


On the Shores of Lake Titicaca

by NotTasha



Series: Amazon Series [7]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 11:02:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 29,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7615513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotTasha/pseuds/NotTasha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ezra and Vin guard a gold shipment on a stagecoach. Things go awry</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Half

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMERS: This is fanfiction. No profit involved None whatsoever. This story isbased on the television series "The Magnificent Seven" . No infringement upon the copyrights held by CBS, MGM, Trilogy Entertainment Group, The Mirisch Corp. or any others involved with that production is intended.  
> RATING: PG-13 for Language and Violence  
> MAJOR CHARACTERS: Ezra and Vin  
> SUMMARY: Ezra and Vin end up guarding some gold on a stage coach... now, you know this is only going to lead to trouble.  
> AWARDS: The Amazon Series – Winner of 2003 Mistresses of Malarkey Best Gen Sequential Fic  
> DATE: Originally posted June 15, 2002

PART 1:

The afternoon crowd was just beginning to fill the Redbird. Vin, Buck and Ezra sat at their usual table, having finished their lunch but not having anywhere else to go immediately. Buck leaned back in his chair while Vin scratched his chin contemplatively. It was a warm afternoon, and Ezra picked up his hat to fan himself as he waited for the others to come to a decision. 

Spring had spread across the land and the change in weather was welcome. Gone was the cold of winter. Already, the days were growing hot and soon their desert home would be the oven they were used to.

The three men sipped their beers and played a good-natured game of poker for small change. It was the day before payday after all, and the pockets of some were nearly empty. The money moved easily across the table. Vin smiled when he noticed that the distribution seemed rather even. On another day, in another mood, the dispersal would be exceptionally different. 

Yes, Standish could play cutthroat when he wanted, or spread the wealth with ease. Even so, Vin had no doubts that Ezra would leave the table with a profit -- however small.

Vin studied his cards and raised a dime. Ezra arched an eyebrow at the sum.

Buck asked, "Got yourself a royal flush this time, Vin?"

“Figure I’ll bet the farm,” Tanner returned with a smile.

“Too rich for my blood,” Buck said, tossing in his cards. They landed face up, displaying his pair of threes. “How ‘bout you, big-spender?”

“Lord,” Ezra said, running a thumb along his bottom lip. His eyes flitted up, looking at the small collection of coins with unnecessary trepidation. “It’s high stakes isn’t it?”

“Take a chance,” Vin encouraged. “You only live once.”

“Very well,” Ezra sighed, tossing in the appropriate amount. “Though I fear it’ll break me.” He nodded. “I call.”

Vin smiled stupidly. “Got a couple of sixes.” He held up the cards for inspection. “And a couple of twos.”

Ezra sighed dramatically, “And I have a straight - 9 high.”

“Damn it, Standish!” Vin shouted, tossing his cards to the table in mock anger.

The gambler laughed affably as he raked in the coins, less than thirty cents with the ante. “I suppose your luck might turn, given time and proper training.” He grinned rakishly.

The doors swung open and Fletcher Bowman, the saloon’s pianist, strode in as if he owned the place. “Hey, boss,” he called as he moved through the tables. “You expectin’ a good night?”

“Every night’s a good night, Mr. Bowman,” Ezra responded brightly.

The pint-sized piano-man nodded. “Good enough for me,” he replied. 

The three continued their low-stakes game as Fletcher helped Inez set up for the evening crowd. The Redbird continued to thrive in the town of Four Corners. There were plenty of saloons in that town, but people had come to expect a little something extra from the small saloon beside the dry goods store. It was a refuge of sorts, a bastion against the lower tastes exhibited in some of the other establishments.

Vin smiled as he looked around the place. It was a shade too nice for his usual tastes, but he liked it here well enough. It felt like a home to him.

“Hey,” JD shouted in greeting as he pushed open the doors and strode into the saloon. “You guys still here?”

“So it would seem, Mr. Dunne,” Ezra responded.

“Don’t look as if you’ve all gotten too far. Looks like you’re in the same shape as last time I seen you all.”

“Yup,” Vin agreed.

“Monotonous, isn’t it?” was Ezra’s response.

“Funny how that happens,” Buck added.

JD pulled up a chair and sat down.

“You aim to join us, kid?” Buck asked. “You gotta have a penny to open.”

JD threw Buck a puzzled look, used to a higher ante, and then shook his head. “Naw, I was lookin’ for Vin. Wanted to ask him somethin’.”

“Yeah?” Vin prompted as Ezra dealt out another hand and they tossed in their ante. “Well… ask.”

JD furrowed his brow and said, “I heard some fellas sayin’ that the highest lake in the world is in the Alps or somewheres, but I remember you sayin’ somethin’ about one in South America. When I told those guys that, they just laughed at me and told me I didn’t know what I was talking about.”

Buck chuckled and Vin smirked.

“Ah,” Ezra stated, pressing a hand to his heart. “How delightful. Our young friend has taken an interest in geography!”

Buck shook his head and sighed. “Hell, JD, how’d you get yourself involved in a conversation like that?”

The kid shrugged. “I don’t know. I was just listenin’ and they come up with that. I figured I had to set ‘em straight. They were from Germany, I think -- maybe Sweden or somethin’. Anyway, I figured the things we got in the Americas are just as good as what they got over there, maybe better sometimes.”

“One shouldn’t eavesdrop, Mr. Dunne. It’s impolite,” Ezra responded.

“Aw shucks, Ezra. You do it all the time.”

“True,” Ezra admitted. “But I don’t let everyone know. I exercise a thing known as ‘subtlety’.”

JD shook his head and faced Vin. “Anyway, what were you sayin’ about that lake up in the mountains? You were tellin’ me about it last week when we were fishin’.”

Vin paused, not knowing what to feel at hearing this question. People were always asking him about tracking and bounty hunting, Indian customs and camping. Nobody had ever asked him anything that would have come from book-learning. That was a realm usually left to Ezra and Josiah. Hell, JD had more schooling that Vin ever had. It didn’t seem right for this educated Easterner to be asking the scraggly, unschooled, back-woods tracker such a question.

“Vin?” JD tried. “You know anythin’ about that lake?”

Surprised that Ezra hadn’t stepped in and answered for him, Vin finally replied, “Well, there’s that one up in the Andes. The book said it was the highest ‘navigable’ lake in the world.” He did his best not to stumble on the word. “That means you can put ships on it and such. It’s petty big." He glanced to Ezra and saw a small smile as the cardsharp scrutinized his cards.

JD twisted his lips in thought. “So was I right?”

“Seems so,” Vin responded. He wasn’t certain though, and didn’t want to lead Dunne astray with incorrect information. “Ya think, Ez?”

“I suppose it’s all in the terminology,” Ezra put in. “If they are referring to a mere ‘puddle’ as a ‘lake’, well, I suppose that something might exist in the Himalayas, but I believe your prior assertion is correct. The highest body of water that could truly be called a ‘lake’ is indeed in South America.”

JD nodded curtly. “See, I knew I was right!”

"People live on that lake," Vin said. 

"On boats?" JD asked.

Vi shook his head. "They made their own islands that go floating about. Wove reeds together. They got their houses, their families and everything. They got whole communities there, all together on their own floating islands."

"Sounds crazy," JD said, shaking his head

Buck chuckled. “Now, Ezra, why do you go around fillin’ Vin’s head with stuff he don’t need to know? You got JD doin’ it, too. What’s the point of that? Who cares where the largest lake in the world is?”

Vin frowned as he set down his cards, feeling a certain amount of resentment. “I got a right to know stuff, Buck. I like learnin’ things. And I learned that myself from a book. Nobody told it to me.” His words came out a little sharper than he wanted.

“Whoa now, Vin,” Buck said, raising his hands in surrender. “Didn’t mean nothin’ by that.”

“You’d best watch your words, Mr. Wilmington,” Ezra said with a disinterested sigh. “Mr. Tanner obviously pays closer attention than you do. We were talking about Lake Titicaca, the ‘highest’ lake, not the ‘largest’.”

Buck snorted out a laugh. “What did you just say? Titty? Caca?” He laughed again. “The ‘titty’ part sounds like my kinda place. Get rid of the ‘caca’ and let me in!”

JD laughed out loud. Vin threw Ezra a glance and said in a low voice, “Better not say anything about Lake Poopó.”

“Lord, no,” Ezra returned quietly, smiling at Vin’s deliberately incorrect pronunciation.

The doors of the saloon swung open again. Ezra glanced up and noted in a low voice, “Mr. Larabee, it appears, has a look of frustration about him.”

The others turned too and Vin added, “Yup. Looks like he’s got a worry or two.” The vein on Larabee’s head was close to the ‘throbbing’ point.

“Hey, Chris!” Buck shouted congenially as Larabee strode to the table.

“Cowboy,” Vin greeted with a grin. Ezra touched his fingers to the brim of his hat.

“Everything okay, Chris?” JD added, noting the irritated squint of their leader’s eyes.

“I need two of you to take a trip,” Chris stated. “Stagecoach needs protection.”

“Yeah? What for?” JD asked eagerly.

“Got a gold shipment heading out of town today. Fella moved out of town last week and is sending for his stake.”

“Gold?” Ezra sat up immediately. “Well, sir, what is the worth of this treasure?”

“Ezra,” Chris sighed. “Why does that matter?”

Standish laughed, “Ah, the value makes all the difference in the world. It’s the difference between a shed in the bayou and a summer palace in Newport. A dogcart and a gilded chariot, a mule and a thoroughbred…”

“I got the picture, Ezra.”

“The difference between that…” Ezra continued, gesturing disdainfully at Vin’s worn buckskin. “…And this.” He touched the fine fabric of his own sleeve.

“It’s about $5,000,” Larabee finally blurted out to stop Ezra from going any further.

Buck whistled. “Man oh man, that’s a tidy sum.”

“Wow,” JD included.

“Ah,” Ezra sighed. “Just enough to set me up comfortably and take care of me in the opulence I deserve and not too heavy to manage with the proper transport, I should say.” When he saw Chris’ scowl, he added, “And it’s rather nicely divisible by seven. $700 each?”

JD frowned. “Wouldn't it be more like $715 each?”

Ezra waved hand to wipe away this thought and make it inconsequential. “It depends on who’s doing the dividing. There are certain fees involved in…”

Chris cut in, “No one is gonna be dividing anything. It’s gotta go to Cedar Ridge. They want a couple of guards on the stage to keep an eye on it. Word is, there’s been some trouble up that way lately. Probably nothing, but folks are talking.”

“Cedar Ridge, you say?” Ezra said, standing quickly and collecting his coins. “I’d be more than willin’ to go along.”

Chris pursed his lips as he regarded Standish. Ezra smiled congenially as Larabee spoke, “This willingness of yours doesn’t have anything to do with getting your hands on that gold, does it, Ezra?”

“Why, Mr. Larabee, you know I’m always interested in the subject.”

“If I let you go on this one, I’d have to add an extra man, just to keep a guard on you.” Larabee sighed. “I’m afraid the temptation would be a bit too much.”

“Ah yes,” Ezra responded. “Wisely spoken. But in this case, I have more than larceny in mind. There’s an errand I’d like to attend to.” He lowered his eyes as he brushed distractedly his jacket. “I hear the town has acquired an excellent tailor. I wanted to discover if the stories proved true.”

Chris looked skeptical. “What about you, Buck? You and JD could do it.”

Buck shrugged. “Sorry, stud. I got a date with Miss Katy tonight. I aim to keep that appointment. Might make it stretch for a day or two, if you know what I mean.”

“I was kinda hopin’ to see Casey tomorrow,” JD said, fiddling with one of the cards from the table. “She’s supposed to be comin’ to town with Nettie and I thought we could spend some time together.”

Vin glanced at Ezra and noted that his smile never disappeared, but his eyes that had been so cheerful a moment ago, took on a different shade. The con man covered well, but Tanner had learned to see through some of the chinks in his wall.

“Perhaps Mr. Jackson and Mr. Sanchez are available,” Ezra said helpfully. “Certainly they’re beyond such temptation.”

Chris was about to respond when Vin cut him off. “Hell, I’d like to see this new tailor fella, too. Got a rip in my jacket that needs mendin’.” He lifted his arm to display the worn seam at his elbow.

Larabee groaned. “Way I figure it, I’d be ten kinds of a fool to send the pair of you together.” He shrugged in resignation. “Wilsons’ baby’s got the croup pretty bad and Nate’s been helpin’ them with it. Josiah’s busy with the church. Cuts down on my options.” Chris gave Ezra a stern look and said, “Stay out of trouble.”

Ezra tilted his head and drawled, “I will endeavor to…”

“There’s no ‘endeavoring’ about it, Ezra,” Chris returned quickly. “Judge wants this done right. No crazy stunts or schemes out of you.” He changed his gaze momentarily to include Vin and added, “…either of you.” He turned and headed to the door, informing them, “Stage leaves at 3:00. Wire me when you get to Cedar Ridge.” The batwing doors swung violently at his abrupt departure.

“Well,” Ezra said as he picked up his cards. “That was a definite note of confidence.”

“Aw, don’t mind him, Ezra,” Buck said as he picked up his small pile of winnings. “I figure he got the announcement about this shipment at the last minute and he’s just pissed off about that.”

Ezra nodded as he straightened the cards, weighing them and puzzling for a moment. He ran one finger along the edge as his eyes searched the table and he noticed the one in JD’s hands. He took the last card from the sheriff with a sigh. “Well then, we’d best get ready, Mr. Tanner,” Ezra said without looking at Vin. He picked up his hat, settled it on his head and headed toward the stairs.

 

PART 2:

Vin quickly packed his bag and headed out to the waiting stage. It was a small but heavy coach, designed for short runs in-between Ridge City and the other nearby towns. The driver seemed nervous. His partner sat beside him with a rifle ready, his beady eyes scanning the shops that surrounded them. The very closeness of the buildings seemed to intimidate both men.

The afternoon was hot, promising a scorching summer. Vin grimaced at the idea of riding a coach through the oppressive weather. He’d much rather ride a horse alongside, but apparently that was not to be. Larabee had specified that they would be ‘passengers ’and not ‘escorts’.

The stage had arrived on schedule with its load of train travelers from Ridge City, but it sat empty as Vin approached. There’d be no paying riders for the trip from Four Corners to Cedar Ridge. The value of the gold outweighed anything a few passengers might have to offer.

“Hey,” Vin called up to the waiting men. “Where you want me?”

The man riding shotgun nodded. “You and the other are inside.”

Vin grumbled and opened the door to examine their ride. It was like an oven. He stepped back, pulling the door wide open to try and vent it a little. A strongbox sat on the rear seat, padlocked and chained in place, leaving only the backward-facing seat available. “Why ain’t it in the boot?” Vin asked, pointing to the locked luggage compartment in back.

“‘Cause we got you two to watch it inside,” The driver said. “‘Sides, it’s too heavy. Might bust the thing off.”

VIn tossed his knapsack onto the empty bench and withdrew. “I’m Tanner. Vin Tanner.” He extended a hand to the coachmen. He recognized the men from previous stops in their town, but he’d never actually met them.

“Al Winter,” the driver said, leaning down to accept the handshake. He nodded to the other man. “This is Frank Riggens.”

“You do this a lot?” Vin asked congenially.

“We make this run sometimes, yup. But, deliverin’ someone’s gold for ‘im? Hell no,” Winter responded, sounding annoyed. “They sprung this on us when we got here. I thought we were headed back to Ridge City with passengers. Some fella paid the company a good dollar for the transport. He figured it’d be safer to send his money with our stage then to take it himself, I reckon.”

“Safer for ‘imself,” Riggens put in, resting his rifle. “Word is those bandits know he’s movin’ this gold today.”

“How you reckon that?” Vin asked.

“They know he's moving.” Winter said. "Doesn't take much to figure his money will be moving too, and probably not with him.”

Vin nodded. “And those banditos got it figured that it’ll happen today?”

Riggens snorted. “Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve got word that the regular run back to Ridge City just chucked off all its passengers. Figure one or two of our customers sent a wire to somewheres, tellin’ what happened."

Vin shrugged, not knowing if that was enough to make the drivers so anxious.

“You a good shot?” Riggens asked.

“Yup," he said as he settled his rifle.

“The other, too?”

“Ezra? Yup,” Vin responded. “Figure on trouble?”

Riggens spat. A dark stream of tobacco juice struck road. “I’m bankin’ on it.”

Figures, Vin thought. The rumors about bandits usually caused more trouble than the bandits themselves -- stirring nervousness amongst travelers.

They still had some time before 3:00, and Vin wanted to talk to Chris before they left. If it really was as bad as the coachmen figured, it wouldn't hurt to bring along a few more of the guys.

He was about to tell the two men that he’d be back in a few minutes when Ezra appeared from the saloon and strode toward them, carrying a carpetbag, rifle and a water jug. Standish nodded at the driver and his partner, but the two seemed occupied with other matters. Vin grinned, glad that Ezra had the aforethought to bring plenty of water for the hot ride.

“Mr. Tanner,” Standish greeted as he came closer. “Are we ready to depart?”

“Got a few minutes left, I figure,” Tanner responded.

“The sooner we get out, the better,” Winter put in. “We gotta make Cedar Ridge before nightfall.”

“Plenty of time. I was gonna talk to Chris,” Vin responded. “Maybe I can get him to send a few more of us along.”

“Please, Mr. Tanner, don’t bother our illustrious leader. I’m certain we can handle this -- alone.” Standish stepped into the coach and grimaced at the heat. The sight of the chest brought a further look of annoyance. He positioned his carpetbag alongside the big box and set the jug on the floor. “Let’s get settled and be on our way.”

When Vin stepped in to stow his bag, the brake was released and Winter applied the whip to the horses. The coach shot forward. “Hey,” Vin shouted, trying to keep his feet in the rocking stage. Ezra clung to the braces and rolled his eyes.

“Gotta get goin’!” Winter insisted from above. “Ain’t safe here. Too many hidin’ places for them outlaws.”

“I guess we’re on our way,” Ezra responded, settling into his seat as Vin pulled the door shut. The coach lurched away.

 

PART 3:

Chris was almost out of the jailhouse when the stagecoach left Four Corners. He stood for a moment in shock as it took to the road, heading toward Cedar Ridge. With an irritated gesture, he pulled out his pocket watch and noted that they had left almost fifteen minutes early.

“Damn it,” he muttered. He’d wanted to talk to the two lawmen before they disappeared. He wanted to at least talk to Ezra regarding that short conversation in the saloon. Did Standish insist that the stage get started early just so he could get away?

He wondered what Standish had told the coachmen to get them moving early.

It wasn’t that Larabee didn’t trust Ezra on this mission -- he simply knew where the strengths and weaknesses of his men lay. There were members of this team that couldn’t be trusted among young ladies, and others who had trouble with liquor. Ezra, he knew, was not to be trusted near other people’s money.

Larabee shoved the watch back into his pocket, remembering the day that Ezra had been shot at the political rally and laid out on the main street. Only the cash secreted in his jacket had saved his life. Chris remembered the mix feelings he’d suffered: terror, relief, confusion and disappointment. If it wasn’t for that wad of cash, Ezra would have died, but what the hell was it doing in his jacket anyway?

He recalled when Ezra glibly commented that he should not be trusted with other people’s money. I can trust you to save Mary’s life though, Larabee thought. There was no questioning that. Trust you to come back even if it'll bring you nothing but shame. Trust you to put yourself between a bullet and someone you've promised to protect.

Ezra always managed to surprise him.

As he glared after the departing stage, Chris realized he had nothing to worry about. The gold would arrive in Cedar Ridge intact. He had to admit that he knew Standish wouldn’t take a cent. He was just sorry he’d brought it up in the saloon.

Wish I could have told you that before you left, he thought.

Larabee pulled a cigar from his pocket and lit a match. Cupping a hand, he lit the stogie and leaned heavily against the jail’s outside wall. He frowned, thinking that those quickly spoken words wouldn’t sit well with Ezra. No, Standish might act like a thick-skinned jackanapes, but he took everything to heart.

He must feel so alone sometimes. Chris puffed on his cigar. I don’t help things much.

Damn, Chris thought.

 

PART 4:

The coach hurried along the trail to Cedar Ridge as if the fate of the world depended on its quick arrival. Ezra had pulled back the flap on the window as soon as he was able to let in some air.  
Ezra kept his face passive as he sat in his backward-facing seat, watching the world behind them. From time to time, his glance fell upon the chained box. His hands itched, knowing what was contained within. $5,000 in gold was a handsome amount. It was enough to make his heart beat a little faster. He imagined the improvements possible at his saloon, the furnishings for a decent home, the extravagant meals, the rings and clothing, the finery, the prestige.

God! His mouth watered at the thought and he felt a little lightheaded. Think of what that treasure could purchase!

He pressed his palms against his knees and returned his gaze to the window. Well, Ezra thought as his musings drifted with the dust. That just goes to show, I should have expected those comments from Mr. Larabee. I have given him no reason to believe otherwise of me. I've proven myself to be nothing more than a thief. I shouldn't be surprised.

A bead of sweat trickled down his face and he moved uncomfortably in his jacket. It's the life I've chosen. It what I've designed. I have created an existence where no one can trust me. I have constructed a life where money is the only thing of value and the attainment of it is the only thing I care for. 

The sweat continued to build on his face as the hot stage rocked and bounced. It's easier to live for monetary wealth -- easier than living for virtue, valor, victory. Money is easy; it’s something I can attain for myself with no need to think of others. It's an excellent measurement of worth, he reminded himself.

So, why do I allow myself to be bothered by the comments of others? Especially when they speak only the truth, a side of my life that I've never tried to hide? There wasn’t a reason in the world for him to feel so unhappy with what Larabee had said. He glanced at the chest again, but looked away without feeling that strange rush again.

As he watched the land pull away from them, he told himself that he never was meant to have lasting friendships, strong relationships, rewarding companionships. No -- he was to live his life for the sake of Ezra Standish, to keep Ezra Standish comfortable and well-tended, to cheat, steal and con everyone in his path to make Ezra Standish a wealthy man. Friends were things to exploit and leave behind.

He kept his gaze on the land, looking for movements that might be considered threatening. His hand strayed near his gun belt, watching and waiting for trouble, ready to do what he must to protect the cargo.

Beside him, Vin shucked off his heavy buckskin coat and shoved it onto the overhead shelf with his bag. He gestured to Ezra, opening his hand to offer the same. Tanner waited, clinging to the side of the rolling coach as Standish stood and removed his jacket as well.

After glancing at the wadded leather coat next to the knapsack, Ezra carefully folded his jacket and placed it on top of his carpetbag, beside the chest. Vin shook his head and sat down again on the rattling bench.

“Hot,” Tanner commented as he stretched out his legs.

"Indeed," Ezra replied as he picked up the water jug and uncorked it. He tipped it back, enjoying a long drink and then handed it to Tanner. Vin drank as well and then stowed the jug as Ezra patted down his forehead with a cloth.

Ezra and Vin kept watch for the expected banditos. There was nothing but open space -- a long stretch of nothingness. They sat in silence most of the way. VIn glanced at his traveling companion, seeing only an empty expression. He frowned, knowing why Ezra looked so distant, so expressionless. Chris should trust him a bit more, he thought.

Vin tried to start a conversation, but was rewarded with only succinct responses that did nothing to prolong the discussion. And Tanner, a man of few words, found it difficult to draw out the usually garrulous southerner.

“Figure we’ll get in b’fore nightfall?”

“If we have no mishaps.”

“Think we’ll be able to get a good room when we get in?”

“I couldn’t say.”

“You reckon this tailor guy is good? Can I trust my jacket to him?”

“We’ll see. He may be competent,” was the extent of Standish’s replies.

The noise of the rattling coach, the thundering of six horses and the coarse shouts of Winter made discussion difficult in any case. Ezra and Vin gazed out of their separate windows, watching the landscape for trouble.

They were halfway into their four-hour trip when a sharp rap on their ceiling brought them out of their reverie. “Riders!” Riggens shouted. “Comin’ fast from the front!”

Ezra and Vin quickly found positions to see what they were heading into. “Shit,” Tanner muttered as a mob of men rode toward them. He counted ten men as he reached for his rifle. Ezra unholstered his Remington and stood ready. The coach turned sharply, nearly pitching the coach.

“Get on! Get on! Hah!” Winter shouted to the team as he brought them around. The mob continued their approach.

“Well, Mr. Tanner,” Ezra said quietly, holding on as the stage swerved. “It would seem that our monotony is about to end.”

“Yeah, might get a bit excitin’ too,” Tanner added as they both moved about in the crowded space, vying for the best position. The wagon continued to turn, heading off the trail.

Vin kept steady aim on the lead rider, waiting for someone to make a mistake. His finger tightened on the trigger. Obviously this group wasn’t paying a social call. They were riding hell-bent-for-leather and were just coming into range.

Ezra leaned beside him, half out of the window as he tried to find a position around the tracker in the turning stage. “I suppose they’re not to be easily dissuaded,” he commented dryly.

“Nope,” Vin responded.

Winter and Riggens were shouting above them, urging the horses onward, yelling supposed orders to them. “Take ‘em out! Take ‘em out!” Riggens demanded.

“Shall we?” Ezra asked.

The gunfire began before Tanner had a chance to respond. He got off a couple of good shots, taking out the lead rider. Another fell in the mob, most likely from Ezra’s gun firing just over Vin’s head, half-deafening him. Tanner withdrew and fitted new cartridges into his Winchester. Above them, Riggens was adding his rifle to the effort.

As the coach finally straightened out and the gang came up behind them, Ezra ducked in to reload and then switched to the other side of the coach to find a better shot. He took out another from his new position. The horsemen continued firing. 

Riggens suddenly screamed and thudded against the ceiling.

“Frank! Frank!” Winter shouted as he beat the horses onward. “Damn it! Frank!”

Ezra threw Vin a discontented look across the stagecoach as he leaned ridiculously far through the window.

“Get your ass back in here!” Vin shouted as he fired again, taking down another of the men.

“My ass is firmly situated within the cab, Mr. Tanner. It's just the rest of me that's out.” Vin barely heard Ezra’s voice as his head disappeared from sight. Ezra grasped the top of the coach to keep steady, shooting with as much precision as he could muster on the rocketing vehicle. It lurched and hopped, jerked and jumped as the team of horses galloped madly.

Vin and Ezra continued firing, their aim often ruined by the riotous machinations of the stage. The six remaining men kept their chase, shouting to one another, yelling at their horses, firing, swearing or screaming in pain as a bullet caught them.

A man lurched from his saddle and dove into the ground. His horse skittishly ran on. A man in a blue vest was the next to be caught; he jerked backward, tried to keep a handle on the saddle, but drooped quickly -- slowing his horse. Eventually he slid to the ground and was left behind. A man in a gray Stetson hit the hard earth and cartwheeled before coming to a lifeless stop.

Only three riders remained.

“We’re gettin’ ‘em, Ez,” Vin shouted encouragingly. “They’ll turn back if they got any sense.” He smiled, sure of himself. “We’ll get ‘em. Matter of time.”

One of the remaining outlaws suddenly got wise. He fired beyond the stage and into the team of horses. The left lead horse jerked as the gunfire continued. It valiantly continued forward for a few halting steps, turning the wagon as he slowed. Inexorably, it stumbled and fell before its teammates. The following horses rode up over the first. Their mates toppled headlong over each other in a contortion of hooves and heads, screaming in terror and pain. The stage lurched violently, slamming to a bone-jarring stop and flipping up over the top of the tangled herd before falling backward again and, turning and smashing to the ground.

Vin hardly had time to grab onto something before the coach slammed forward. His side of the stage went skyward while Ezra’s twisted toward the ground. He looked for Standish as the coach jerked and turned and pitched and shattered, but Ezra was gone.

 

PART 5:

Dazed, Vin blinked and he tried to get his bearings. His gaze landed first on a jumble of broken planks and twisted metal. He was still clinging to his side of the stage, but the side had suddenly become the roof, and the roof was yet another side. Above him, the wheels were spinning still. The weight of the chest had wrenched the bench off of its fittings, but the box remained intact in the rubble. The whole rig jerked every few seconds. 

He didn’t know immediately what had happened, but it all came back to him with crystal clarity. He grabbed for his mare’s leg and what ammunition he could find. With precise hands, he breached the rifle and shoved the cartridges into place. Something was coming. Along with the disconcerting cries of the dying horses, he could hear the hoof beats of the approaching gang. This wasn’t over yet.

He winced and swore as he felt every bruise and scrape. Struggling, he kicked out the broken roof of the stage and crawled through. Riggens’ bloody body lay not far from him. The horses, in their tangled, broken pile, rose to their knees and then sank, jerking the stage in their attempts to break free. Riggens was dead. Winter was gone. Ezra was gone. Ezra! He looked around frantically, but could find no sign of his friend. Ezra!

They'll pay for this. Damn them!

He leaned on his protection and turned toward the charging men. They wouldn’t live to see another day. He took a steadying breath as he lifted the rifle from behind the wreckage, taking a bead on one of the approaching men. He fired. The man jerked and fell as if torn from his saddle. Vin smiled grimly.

The remaining two came to a skidding halt, and Vin gritted his teeth. He fired again, ducking as the bandits returned the compliment. The broken roof of the stagecoach did little to protect him. 

Vin couldn’t see whether his shot was successful as a bullet tore through his thigh. He spun back as it ripped through the meat of his leg, spraying blood in the baked desert. He was flung to his side, losing his grip on the rifle and landing in the broken planks.

Everything went black.

 

PART 6:

Ezra woke at the sound of a gunfire --slow methodical shots. He jerked his head up and tried to understand what had happened. His whole body hurt. His last memory was that the stage had tilted dangerously. He recalled trying to jump away, but the earth rose up to meet him and everything was turned asunder.

There was a blank space… and then six gun shots.

Now, all was quiet. Was it noisy before?

He attempted to breathe deeply in spite of the pressure and pain. God, he hurt. He raised his head slowly and blinked. His leg throbbed. His shoulder screamed. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t move. Damn.

He needed help. Where was Vin?

Vin!

Six shots. My God! Vin! He didn't have a chance! Damn them! If he could only get to his feet, he'd …

Someone was walking nearby. He could hear the boots crunching on the coarse sand. Quickly, Ezra tried to find a weapon. One arm was trapped. He couldn’t get to his Remington and his Colt Richards Conversion, but the little derringer was still in its place. Thank God he hadn’t removed it along with his jacket. 

Darkly, Standish promised that the man who killed Vin would get his just deserts. Vin didn’t deserve to end his life this way.

Ezra rested, narrowing his eyes to slits. He felt so very tired. From around the front of the stage, a shape moved, dark against the cloudless sky.

“Hey, here’s another one, Aggie,” the man said, lifting something from his side. “Didn’t see him the first time I went around. Damn, look at that.” The man laughed as if he’d been told a joke and Ezra fought the urge to fire. He waited until the man moved closer. “Shit, he’s as dead as the others.”

“Arggh,” another voice groaned from a long way away. “Check ‘im and then come help me. My arm’s bleedin’ like a son of a bitch.” The voice sounded scared. “This ain’t right. Let’s grab the gold and get out of here.”

“Yeah.” The man, dressed in grays and greens, held a gun at his side. “Good idea. Soon as I’m sure about these bodies.” He lifted the weapon, bringing it to bear. “I figure he won’t feel another one.”

The little derringer ejected into Ezra’s hand and the gambler discharged it in a well-practiced movement. The man let out a sharp cry, staggered and fell. 

Bastard, Ezra thought.

“Beau?” the other voice called. “Beau?” Ezra closed his eyes and tried to find some strength. All his energy seemed to be leaching from him. Somewhere on the other side of the stage, someone staggered. 

“Damn it!” The voice was terrified. 

There was no stealth in the movements he heard. The man floundered about, and groaned and moaned as he scuttled away.

Ezra breathed slowly, barely able to hear any longer. It sounded as if the other man had made it to the horses. “It ain’t worth this. Ain’t worth this!” The voice was muttering, getting drowned out by sound of his heart resounding in his ears.

A horse danced and stepped and galloped away. Ezra sighed softly as a weight pressed against him. He closed his eyes tightly, remembering the shots fired and not wanting to imagine where they’d found their targets. He drifted away, wishing that things had happened differently - wishing that he could’ve done more.

Sorry, Vin. Awful sorry.

 

PART 7:

He hadn’t been out for long. Vin raised his head as the horses departed. He watched them, feeling disconnected and tired. The one rider seemed to be determined to go as fast as his mount would take him, leaning forward as if hurt. The scattered horses followed the rider, wanting to find safety in a herd. Damn, Vin thought. Shouldn’t have let that man go. The rider and the loose horses disappeared from sight.

Almost without thinking, he moved his hand to the bleeding bullet wound on his thigh and pressed against it. The blood had coated his leg, soaking his pant leg completely, seeping into the sandy soil beneath. He found the entrance and exit through the meat of his thigh and hissed has he tried to close them.

“Ezra!” he called and listened for a response. All was silent. He winced and continued to press. It seemed to take forever to slow the bleeding. Gotta stop it, he thought as he gritted his teeth against the increasing pain. Gotta find him. 

Finally, satisfied that the bleeding had slowed, he untied the bandana from his neck and knotted it around his thigh in a makeshift bandage.

Already, a buzzard circled lazily in the sky. More would come – coyotes, maybe rats and beetles and flies. The scavengers would come. With an inescapable groan, Vin leveraged himself upward, using the overturned stage for support. It wobbled as he pressed on it. Other than the lazy gliding of the buzzard, nothing else moved.

Vin sucked in his breath and squeezed his eyes shut. GOD! His leg hurt. 

Once he was able to move again, he examined the binding. It seemed to be doing the trick for now, but he knew it was only a matter of time before and the wound would be flowing again. 

“Ezra!”

Vin scanned the surrounding area from his half-standing position. The horses were tumbled in a terrible dead mass. He staggered toward the front of the stage, staring at them in wonder. They’d been alive a short time ago. The outlaws must have killed them. He glanced back into the interior of the stage, noting the chest was still within. 

Damn fools, he thought. Killin’ for no purpose whatsoever.

Tanner stopped when he found a body near the front of the stage. Winter faced him with filmy eyes. The driver looked stunned, his mouth open and hands spread at his sides, his head twisted awkwardly. Damn. Vin turned and headed back the way he’d come, throwing Riggens a quick glance as he went.

He hobbled toward the rear of the wagon, scanning the land behind the stage and looking for a similarly twisted body, his friend. But, there was no sign -- Ezra was nowhere in the bleak country. 

God, he had to find him. Won't let him be torn up by those varmints! Deserves to be buried decent.

“Ezra!”

Every movement was tortured and slow as Vin rounded the back of the toppled stagecoach. His leg seemed unwilling to respond to his commands and every step shot a bolt of agony through him. “Damn it, Ezra,” Vin muttered as he struggled.

He paused when he came around the far side, what had once been the bottom of the vehicle. The wheels had finally stopped turning, but they creaked pathetically on their broken axles. Not far from the front wheels, a body in green and gray lay sprawled, blood seeping sluggishly from a hole in his chest.

Vin eyed the newly-killed stranger, and felt a sudden surge of hope, knowing what it meant. The man didn’t get that wound by himself. He allowed himself a small smile. 

“Ezra?” he called, for the first time expecting a response. “Ezra?”

He stumbled forward, unable to locate the gambler. Growing more frustrated with each pain-filled step. "Ezra?" he shouted again. "Where the hell are ya, huh?"

He twisted around to backtrack and regretted the move as he found that his leg wouldn’t move so nimbly. Damn it! He gripped the stage in a vice and closed his eyes as he tried to catch his breath. What the hell was he going to do? Why couldn’t he find Ezra? He slowed his breathing to keep from passing out.

And then he opened his eyes and noticed a chestnut head of hair not far from his feet.  
With a sigh, Vin dropped to his butt beside the former bottom the stage. He winced at the sudden pain, but realized that it was the easiest way to get to where he wanted to be. “Aw, Ez,” he sighed. No wonder he’d missed him on the first pass. 

Only Ezra’s head and one outstretched arm were visible from beneath the vehicle and its undercarriage. The brake shoe had hidden him from behind, the huge wooden wheels had just barely missed crushing him. Ezra was pinned on his stomach beneath the rig, smashed between wood and sand.

Tanner did nothing immediately, and simply observed. “Please,” he said softly, as he watched intently. A wave of relief hit him as he saw the gentle movement of sand beneath Ezra’s mouth as the gambler breathed. Oh God, thank you. 

“Damn, ya scared me, Ez,” Vin said softly. “Scared the shit outta me.”

Thoughtful of his own safety, Vin removed the derringer from Ezra’s grip, before he laid a hand on his head. “Hell of a place to end up, Ez,” he said softly as his eyes took in the size of the vehicle. “Can’t do anything easy, can ya?”

Ezra gave him no response, and Vin sighed woefully. Damn, why couldn’t this be easy? “We’ll getcha out of here,” Vin promised, rubbing the back of Ezra's head thoughtfully. “You got my word on that.”

 

PART 8:

Vin sighed and wondered what the hell they were going to do this time. He made it to his feet and hobbled as quickly as his wounded leg would allow, looking for anything that might help their situation. He quickly searched the wreck, finding his rucksack and canteen near the broken roof of the stage. Peering into the interior, he could see Ezra’s carpetbag within, but he didn’t want to bother with retrieving it. No sense in climbing into the rig with Ezra still trapped beneath it. The interior was shattered anyway and it would be no easy feat to get it out. The padlocked strongbox lay in the midst of the mess. He frowned, thinking of the weight of the box -- not considering the worth. He’d have to get that out, if he could only get past those broken benches.

He continued looking, but could find only the one canteen. The water jug had been destroyed in the accident. He shook the canteen experimentally, finding it mostly full. He hoped it would last until help came.

Moving as quickly as his wounded leg allowed, Tanner came to the front of the stage to decide exactly how he was going to get it lifted off of Ezra.

He stared again at the jumbled and bloody mess. Horses, halters and splintered traces were heaped in a horrific pile. One big bay was rolled back across the stage’s tongue, pinning the front of the vehicle to the ground. His mate was lying across him, partially covered by one of the roans that had been hitched in front them. A pair of buzzards stood nearby, watching him -- waiting.

Vin took in the futility of trying to move the tons of horseflesh. Even if he had the full use of both his legs, the project would be nearly impossible. He groaned and leaned against the broken vehicle, feeling weak and defeated.

He wasn’t the type to be sentimental about animals, but even so, he felt upset by their deaths. He was pragmatic enough to realize that if even one of the team were still alive, they could have made use of it. One living horse would have given them a chance to move the others, would have provided a ride home, would’ve given them a fighting chance.

Bastard, he thought, considering the man who had deprived them of this escape. One horse might have been sound enough to pull, would have allowed him to get Ezra out of that trap. Even a broken-legged animal might have lasted long enough to do that. A half-dead horse could have been forced to roll over and get off the damn hitch. Son of a bitch.

He pulled one of the sturdier looking tracings free and leaned on it. He studied the heaped bodies, knowing that there was nothing he could do about them. A quiet cough broke him from his grim reverie and he hobbled back toward Ezra, using the pole to keep himself upright. “Hey, Ezra,” he greeted when he coughed again, weakly.

Ezra lifted his gaze and stared back at Vin with one eye. He blinked, turning his head as much as his position would allow. His hand jerked, trying to find his gun. A look of panic flickered over Ezra’s face as his hand flashed about on the sand, searching.

“Ez, hey, Ez. It’s me. Ezra!” Vin called urgently. He dropped down beside the man with a grunt and grabbed hold of Ezra's wrist. The damn derringer rig made it difficult to get a good grip on him. “Ezra, it’s Vin!”

Ezra continued to blink at him. It was several long seconds before a look of realization struck him. “Vin?” he asked dully.

“Yeah, you got that right.”

He swallowed. “But, they shot you.”

“Got a hole in me,” Vin admitted. He gestured to his bandaged leg and frowned when he noticed the blood seeping though. “But I ain’t dead.”

“Six shots. I heard six,” Ezra murmured as he lowered his head, pressing half his face against the sand. “Thought they’d executed you.”

“Well, six ain’t enough to keep me down,” Vin said with a chuckle, and then added seriously, “That probably was the horses. Figure that fella there did it.” He nodded to the body near them. “Looks like you took care of 'im. Probably was the same one that got me this hole.”

“Good,” Ezra responded.

Vin wasn’t sure if Ezra’s response was regarding his bullet wound or the death of the man who’d killed the horses and caused the wound. “You got any holes in you?” Tanner asked.

Ezra blinked. “Don’t think so,” he responded.

“Hurt? You got anything broke.”

“Don’t know.” Ezra looked up to Vin. “It’s hard to be certain.”

“Can ya wiggle your toes any?”

Vin waited, watching the wince that crossed the other man's face. “Yes,” Ezra responded.

Vin sighed in relief, hoping that this meant Ezra hadn’t broken his back…Lord help him.

Ezra’s eyes roamed, taking in the size of the wreck on top of him. “Can you get this monstrosity off of me?”

“It’s stuck hard.” Vin looked away, unable to observe his trapped friend when he stated, “It’s gonna be a trick to move it. The horses got the front of it pretty weighted down and then there’s that big box inside. I ain't found a hatchet to break it down.”

Tanner said nothing, waiting for Ezra’s response, but Ezra remained silent. “Got this stick though," he went on. "Maybe I can lever it up a bit and you can wiggle out.” He looked toward his friend finally. “Won’t be able to lift it much, but it might be enough.”

Ezra was staring beyond Vin, not looking at the upheld pole. “It’d be worth a try,” Ezra responded.

Vin nodded and resolutely, painfully, shoved himself back to his feet. “Just gotta get this thing lifted a few inches. Then you come on out, okay?”

“Yes, yes,” Ezra said.

Vin’s eyes searched, trying to find a decent place to set up a lever, and finally shoved it in between Ezra and the front wheel.

“You up to it?” Vin asked, pushing a rock into place to act as a fulcrum.

“I’ll do my best,” was the response.

Vin nodded, realizing that he’d receive no better answer than that. “Okay, I’m gonna shove down on this stick and when I do, I need you to get out. Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

With that, Vin pressed his weight on the upraised pole. He gasped in sudden pain as the effort tore his wound open. The stage started lifting. Ezra sucked in his breath, valiantly trying to leverage himself up and out with his one free hand, but he stopped almost instantly, panting against the agony that caught him.

“Ez! EZ!” Vin yelled through his teeth, closing his eyes against the explosion of pain in his leg. “Get out! Get out!” The tracing creaked ominously. Ezra said nothing, clawing the sand beneath him with his one usable hand.

“Damn it, Ezra!” Vin squeezed his eyes tightly shut against the agony in his leg. “Get your ass out of there!”

Ezra gasped. The pole, too weak to lift the weighted stage, shattered and Vin, unable to catch his balance in time, painfully fell to the ground.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” Vin barked, pounding his fist against the ground, venting his frustration on the earth. God, how was he going to get Ezra out of there if he couldn’t lift the damn thing? He rolled onto his back and clutched his freely bleeding leg. “Damn it!”

He lifted his gaze and sighed miserably when he noted Ezra. He was trembling, his skin had gone white as chalk. “Ah, hell,” Tanner muttered.

Still holding onto the bleeding wound, Vin shuffled over until he was beside Ezra again. “You okay, pard?”

“Tried…” Ezra managed to say between panting breaths. His face was sweaty and ashen. He didn’t open his eyes.

“I know,” Vin responded. “Damn thing’s too heavy. I got no strength, and this bum leg…” Tanner grimaced in annoyance at his wound and his excuses.

His eyes drifted back to Ezra, who was trying to control his breathing. Ezra had pulled his free hand over his face.

“I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to hurt you worse. You okay?” Tanner asked quietly.

“Not so well, ” Ezra responded truthfully. “I couldn’t quite move. I believe my shoulder’s out. M’leg hurts…a bit.”

Vin closed his eyes. God! If he were a bit stronger, he could have wrestled the coach up, grabbed Ezra by his collar and yanked him out. “Sorry, Ez,” he said softly. “Looks like we gotta wait for help.”

Ezra nodded his head, and pressed his hand to his face.

 

PART 9:

They both were still for several minutes, catching their breath. Vin picked up the free half of the broken pole and tossed it away in disgust. Damn thing could never have lifted the heavy coach. Why did he even bother? Had to do somethin’, he figured.

He glanced to Ezra, seeing him still breathing harshly, his hand hadn’t moved from his face. “Holdin’ out okay?” Vin asked.

A smile ghosted across the gambler’s face as he finally he pulled his hand back. “Managing…” he responded. His green eyes turned to Vin and he observed thoughtfully, “You’re bleeding.”

“Yeah,” Vin replied, glaring at the painful wound.

“You’d best tend to it properly.”

“Gotta make sure you’re okay. Cain’t exactly leave ya.”

“Mr. Tanner, it’s imperative that you remain in functioning order. I’m countin’ on you to take care of me in my predicament.” Standish lifted his free arm in futility. “I cannot do much on my own.”

“Yeah,” Vin agreed in frustration. He realized that if he let himself go, then Ezra wouldn’t stand a chance alone. He pulled his knapsack into his lap and started to undo the buckles. He had some cloth that would work for a better bandage, but he needed something to clean it properly.

“I acquired some Kentucky Bourbon recently. The finest of course,” Ezra expressed, seeming to read his thoughts.

“I expect nothin’ less.”

“It’s in my carpetbag. Hopefully the bottle’s still intact. If not, my clothing must have soaked up some of the contents. You’d best make use of it.”

As much as he dreaded getting to his feet, Vin realized that a festering wound was the last thing he needed. And, if he was off his head with fever, he wouldn’t be much help to Ezra. “‘Spect you’re right,” he replied. Slowly, Tanner managed to stand, using one of the wheels above his head for support, and then withdrew his hand quickly when he remembered that Ezra was still under it and didn’t need anything else pressing down on him. 

“Be back in a minute or so. Think you can behave until I get back?”

“What could I possibly do?” Ezra asked, gesturing to the rig above him. “I can’t even reach my cards, so one need not worry about me causing any sort of trouble.”

“Well, you and trouble, Ez, kinda go hand in hand.”

“Pot and kettle,” Ezra muttered. “Don’t bleed on my luggage,” he warned, closing his eyes as Vin moved away. He placed his hand over his face once more. “It costs more than you make in three months.”

Vin chuckled. “I’ll do what I can. Not promisin’ nothin’.” He staggered off with his knapsack in hand. He managed to make it around the stage and to the hole he’d bashed through the former top. The interior was a jumble. He found his jacket easily enough and pulled it clear. Ezra’s had disappeared.

He shook his head in wonder, looking at the mess. It was hard to believe that he had survived the crash inside this smashed thing. Wishfully, he searched for an axe. If he had one he could slice up this thing and move it off of Ezra piece by piece. No such device appeared.

The carpetbag was out of reach, resting not far from where Ezra was trapped. At least the heavy chest wasn’t near him. "You sure your hooch is the good stuff?" Vin shouted, wanting to get a response.

“Of course, Mr. Tanner,” Ezra’s voice came back to him.

“Well, then I guess it’s worth the effort.” Vin grabbed hold of one of the benches and tried to wrench it free, but stopped immediately as his leg sharply reminded him that it wouldn’t stand for that. “Goddamn,” he gasped, bending forward and trying to catch his breath.

“Vin?” Ezra called querulously.

“Hang on a sec,” Vin gasped. Damn, but it hurt. He should be resting now, having Nathan tend to him while Chris raged about this whole situation. He shouldn’t be the one in charge. But he was the only one who was mobile at the moment and if he were to take care of Ezra, he’d have to take care of himself first. He could feel the blood running down his leg, telling him to hurry. “I gotta get to that bag, Ez.”

“Isuspected that’s why you’d left.”

“It’s kinda on top of you and I can’t see how to get it without gettin’ in.”

“Do as you must. I have some Epicurean delights packed that might make our evening’s repast more pleasant.”

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“Food, Mr. Tanner.”

“Well that settles it. I’m goin’ in.” Vin set his knapsack outside and carefully, putting as much weight on his bad leg as it could handle, he made his way into the ruined stage. “You doin’ okay, Ez?”

“Fine,” was the too short answer.

Gotta get out of here. Gotta get off of him. Vin lurched forward, hanging on to a tilted wall, and snagged the carpetbag. He lurched backward, but the movement was more than his weakened and hurt body could stand. He gasped and tried to catch his balance, but his leg wouldn’t respond correctly and the torn up interior of the stage only tripped him up. He landed with an 'oof', on his butt just outside.

“Dang it!” he shouted in frustration. At least he had the carpetbag and since he was already seated he decided to tend to himself; the bandage was already red with blood. Standing at this point would not be a wise idea. He opened the bag and easily found the bottle, thankfully intact.

“You holdin’ out, Ez?” Vin called as he pulled his knife from his belt and started cutting through his blood-soaked jeans. There was no immediate answer. “Ezra?”

“Fine… M‘fine.” Ezra’s voice was weak.

“Well, I’ll be back right soon. Gonna take care of to this so I can hop around a bit more.”

“Fine…”

Frowning deeply, Vin hurried to take care of the wound, splashing more bourbon than necessary in his haste. He bellowed in pain as the alcohol hit him, and sucked back a few swallows of the same in order to combat the new ache.

After ripping up some cloth, he tied up the bandage in a quick but efficient manner. It would hold, as long as he didn’t exert himself. He snagged the two bags, his jacket and a blanket, then struggled to his feet. Using another of the broken tracings as a crutch, he staggered back toward Ezra.

“Hey, Ez,” he said softly as he came around the back of the stage. Ezra hadn’t moved. His hand was still over his face. “Got it fixed up. Nate would be proud.” He sighed as he lowered himself beside his friend. “Figure I’ll keep the leg.”

Ezra still hadn’t moved. Vin waited. Finally, he pulled Ezra’s hand out of the way. Ezra’s face was slack and his eyes were closed. Vin laid his hand near Standish’s mouth, hoping to feel a breath. Don’t be dead. You can’t have died while I was away lookin' after myself. His other hand still held Ezra’s. He squeezed it softly, holding onto the hand as he waited to feel something.

And there it was, the quiet breathing on his fingers. He moved his hand to Ezra’s forehead and felt the skin. No sign of fever, but his skin was tacky with sweat. Ezra's whole face seemed to be covered with sand and grit. The day hadn’t become any cooler. They were looking at a long hot evening ahead of them.

Vin took up the canteen and searched through Ezra’s bag for something appropriate. He pulled out a pair of handkerchiefs. He moistened one of them and starting wiping down Ezra’s face with it. Water was at a premium, but the tracker figured the least he could do was to offer his friend some small comfort. Ezra would hate to have all that crap on him. Standish mumbled softly, flinched and mumbled again.

“S’okay,” Vin murmured, washing away the sand and sweat. He tried to ease the other cloth under Ezra’s head before he got too far.

Ezra blinked, bewildered, as Vin lifted his head. He sucked in a long breath, but didn’t seem to see Vin as he gaze remained fixed in front of him. “S’okay, Ez,” Vin said softly, moving the cloth underneath. “Just tryin’ t’get your face out of the dirt. You’ll be happier.” When he was done and had Ezra settled again, the eyes closed and he drifted off. 

Vin finished his work, wiping the remaining sand and grit from Ezra's face, flicking the bits off the handkerchief that formed the pillow. Ezra continued to flinch from time to time, but didn’t wake again.

“Sorry, Ez,” Vin apologized, wishing he could do something more, wishing there had been some other way to get the damn carpetbag out of the stage. “Damn sorry, Ez.”

The derringer rig was his next concern. It took a moment to figure out how the mechanism attached, but Tanner finally found the secret to it and removed it from his arm. No use in keeping the uncomfortable bit of business on him any longer. How could he stand to wear it all the time? Must have gotten used to it.

Ezra tried to jerk his arm out of Vin’s grip at one point, but Vin quickly soothed him and he quieted again. He placed Ezra’s arm in what he hoped was a comfortable position, wrapped around his head as a sort of a windbreak, and then put the contraption in Ezra’s bag, along with the derringer.

He considered removing the rings from Ezra's hand, wondering if it would make him more comfortable – probably not. As he looked at them, he thought about the simple gold band on Ezra's left hand – trapped beneath him. Ezra never spoke about it, and Vin never asked. Some day, Ezra would tell him.

Tanner exhaled slowly, feeling lightheaded. He stretched his injured leg out in front of him, noting that the bandage had not bled through and hoping that his handiwork might hold until Chris and the others found them. He was damn hot. He could find some shade if he moved to another side of the stagecoach, but he wasn’t going to leave Ezra here alone.

Allowing himself some respite, he tipped back the canteen and took a swallow. Damn, that was good. Temptation was to finish off the whole thing right then, but the contents hardly seemed enough for one, let alone two. He re-corked the canteen and set it safely beside him.  
He sighed and started his vigil, keeping a close watch on his trapped friend.

 

PART 10:

Vin waited in the heat, hoping to hear the sound of help approaching. Chris, Buck, Josiah, Nathan and JD -- were they coming already? Why would they come now? There surely wasn’t any reason for Chris and the others to start worrying yet. Still, Vin listened, waited and hoped.  
The dead body of the outlaw lay a few feet from them. A few flies buzzed near it. If Vin had more strength, he might attempt moving it. If there were more blankets, he might cover it. More buzzards had landed nearby and were working at the dead horses. Their wings made dry sounds as they eagerly flapped about and feasted. 

Tanner let out a sigh and then glanced at the carpetbag. He turned it around slowly, checking to make sure he hadn’t bled on it. Lord help him if he’d ruined it. Well, it looked like his paycheck was still safe -- the bag was clean.

After what they’d gone through to retrieve it, there’d better be something of worth inside besides just the alcohol. He opened the bag and looked through it again. Along with his clothing and usual traveling gear, Ezra had two wrapped parcels, sandwiches probably -- and two apples. That was the extent of their food supplies. 

Vin had only jerky and some hard tack -- emergency rations. He’d expected to eat dinner in Cedar Ridge, plus he knew that Ezra always packed something away. No pie. Vin frowned. A couple slices of pie would be welcome right about now. Ezra must not have had enough time to acquire the delicacy before they left town. Well, he doubted that Standish was going to feel hungry anytime soon. 

He glanced to Ezra, hoping he was going to be okay. God, he didn’t look good. Ezra looked as limp a rag doll.

He pressed the back of his hand against Ezra’s cheek, checking for signs of fever, finding him cool.

I should try to dig him out, Vin decided. Can't lift this thing, but maybe I can tunnel under it. He made an attempt to move the dirt, but it was as hard as concrete. Ezra groaned painfully when Tanner finally managed to get some of it out from around him. Ezra shifted slightly and his eyelids fluttered. In the next second his free hand moved out, as if to ward off a blow. “No,” he gasped. “No…” He swung blindly, not opening his eyes.

Vin captured the moving hand and spoke softly to Standish to calm him again. When Ezra finally drifted off to sleep again, Vin sighed and resumed his silent vigil. They’d just have to wait until help arrived.

They’d just have to wait.

Chris and the others better come soon -- tomorrow maybe. God, he was tired. He lay down beside the turned coach and his trapped friend. He closed his eyes and rested his weary head.

He’d just have to wait.

 

PART 11:

It was getting late. Chris sat in the Redbird, drinking slowly and resolutely. Every time the door opened, he looked for one of the Juje children, the offspring of the town’s telegraph operator. Instead, only customers arrived in a steady stream.

Fletcher was playing the piano behind him. Joe was tending the bar, keeping the patrons well lubricated. Inez was tending tables, appearing as glasses emptied, collecting payments, keeping tabs, and returning with more liquor for anyone still on the ‘paying customer’ list.

It was a comfortable place, and Chris needed such comfort that day. He was feeling down. The business about the gold shipment had annoyed him, and he’d taken it out on one of his men. It wasn’t right and he knew it. He frowned at his beer, knowing that he could have send a telegram to Cedar Ridge to await the arrival of Ezra and Vin, but had held off. What would he say anyway? They knew that they were supposed to wire him upon their arrival, so a note asking ‘wire me when you make it to town’ would be redundant. Asking if they ‘made it to town all right’ would be equally unnecessary and could be taken wrong, might be taken as a sign that he was checking up on them. So, he’d have to wait until the men sent word.

When the door opened, he raised his head again. Certainly, Vin and Ezra had made it to Cedar Ridge okay. Certainly, Vin and Ezra were fine. More customers entered. The saloon business continued at its usual bustle.

Finally, the doors swung open and Casper Juje scuttled in, and Chris raised a hand to draw his attention. The boy glanced immediately to him, but his eyes continued onward and the telegram was delivered to another table.

“Casper!” Chris called once the boy had turned.

“Yes, sir,” the young man responded, pulling his pad from his pocket.

“Anything come in for me or the boys?”

Casper looked contemplative. “Mr. Standish got a wire from his Ma. Pa never can understand what they’re supposed to say. Don’t think they’re in English.”

Chris sighed. “Anything from Standish or Tanner? Anything from Cedar Ridge?”

“Mr. Trumble got a wire from Cedar Ridge. His sister is coming for a visit next week.”

Larabee rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Anything from Cedar Ridge that might concern Ezra and Vin? Anything concerning an incoming shipment? They’re supposed to be there by now.”

Casper shook his head. “No, ain’t been a word about that. Still got a couple hours before the wire shuts down for the night.” He tapped his pencil on his pad and added, “So, did you want to send a message?”

Chris contemplated a moment before he replied. “No.” No sense in it. They’ll wire when they get there and not before.

Casper nodded sharply and left.

 

PART 12:

Vin woke from a doze. He found himself lying on the ground, his head a few inches from Ezra’s. The sky was a vivid shade of red as the sun dipped to the horizon. High cliffs and mesas were silhouetted against the redness, looking as if someone had stamped the shapes out of the sky. Above them, the stage’s wheels framed the sky with wedges.

How long had he been sleeping? He focused on the colors before him with the solemn knowledge that night was falling now and they’d soon be in the dark and the cold. Where they had been too hot a short time ago, they’d be facing the opposite in a few minutes. They needed fire and they needed it fast. He struggled to sit up.

“It’s lovely,” Ezra drawled beside him once Vin was upright. “There is such beauty in the desert. It’s a pity that so many will never see such a thing. Of course, I have little say in the matter. I’m a captive audience to the sight.”

“You been awake long?” Vin asked, rubbing his face.

“Not long,” Ezra responded.

“You feelin’ any better?”

Ezra paused before answering, “I’m thirsty.”

“I’ll getcha some water. Let me get some sort of a fire goin’ first, b’fore we lose all our light.”

He fished his matches out of his pocket, gathered a few handfuls of debris from the crash, then set about building a fire. They’d need the warmth, and the light would be welcome in this lonely place. He had to be careful in placing it. With Ezra unable to move and all this wood around, it would be best if it wasn’t too close. But, at the same time, they needed the heat and he didn’t want to move any more than absolutely necessary.

It took a few minutes to get the flame coaxed, but soon enough, Vin had created a comfortable fire to keep them company.

“Mr. Tanner,” Ezra called once the task was adequately attended to. “Water…”

“Yeah, right away,” Vin responded, twisting to get closer to the other. He pulled the canteen from their supplies and uncorked it. He moved it toward Ezra and then frowned as he realized that Ezra would not be able drink from it, lying on his stomach as he was.

Rooting through his knapsack, Vin found a tin cup, made from a half a soup can. He blew out the dust and dirt and then filled up. Then he set it on the ground in front of Ezra.

With what seemed like great effort, Ezra raised his head to reach the cup. He moved it under his chin and took a tentative taste, and found a way to suck up the water from the cup without too much trouble. Then, with a disgusted groan he moved the mug out of the way and lay his head down again.

“Okay?” Vin asked, picking up the homemade mug.

“I feel like a dog,” Ezra said miserably. “I’m drinking like I’m some sort of animal.”

“You gotta make do with what you have,” Vin responded. He made a move to fill the cup to the top once more.

“Mr. Tanner, I must insist that you finish the cup,” Ezra said softly. “Certainly you’re thirsty after losing so much blood,” he added, gesturing one-handedly at Vin’s bloody, torn pant leg. “It seems we have naturally found a means… of ensuring we share our water supply 50-50. I can drink no more than half a cup… and you must finish the rest.”

“You’re a tricky bastard, you know,” Vin replied, but filled the cup to the top again before setting it down in front of Ezra. "I took a gulp or two b’fore you woke. It’s time you caught up.”

Ezra gave Vin a foxy grin. “Mr. Tanner, you are far too honest for your own good. If our positions were reversed… you would never have been the wiser of my partaking of the bounty before you…”

“You would’ve made up some cock-and-bull story ‘bout how you already emptied a canteen on your own and then you’d try and make me think you’re a bastard by drinkin’ part of what we had left.”

Vin laughed to see the stunned look on Ezra’s partially visible face. “Mr. Tanner, I would do no such thing.”

“That’s right,” Vin responded. “‘Cause I wouldn’t letcha. Now drink up ‘cause I’m gettin’ parched.”

Ezra glowered, but drank what he could from the cup, leaving the bottom half for Vin, who quickly gulped it down.

“It’s agreed then, that we’ll share what’s left,” Ezra stated. “I won’t have you playing the part of the martyr for my sake. I would prefer… you well-hydrated and capable of protecting me. What good are you to me if …you’re passed out due to lack of water?” Ezra finally fell silent and rested, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.

“Hurtin’?” Vin asked as he refilled the cup again.

“I have a stagecoach sitting on my back,” Ezra returned.

Vin furrowed his brow. “You havin’ trouble breathin’? Think your ribs are okay?”

Ezra smiled slightly and opened his eyes. “I’m a bit tired out is all.”

“Hmm,” Vin said with a grunt as he set the cup before Ezra.

“It’s been a hectic day.” Ezra took another drink, finishing his portion of the cup and then pushing it back toward Vin.

“Yeah, well that’s a word for it.” Vin drank the remainder and said, “Don’t you start talkin’ about playin’ the part of a martyr, Ez,” Vin said. “I still ain’t quite forgivin’ ya for that business with Marley’s body and my jacket.”

“I hope you aren’t plannin’ on havin’ that poor excuse for a jacket repaired when it should be replaced.”

“Ezra,” Vin said, pulling on the recovered jacket and then fingering the worn out section at the elbow. “Should I be blamin’ this bald spot on one over-dressed, fast-talkin’, gamblin’ lawman from Four Corners? This your way of gettin’ me to replace it?”

“Please, Mr. Tanner, I would have done a bettah job of destruction than that. I’d have made it entirely unusable.”

“Yeah, but you’re a tricky bastard. Figure you’d be subtle.”

Ezra chuckled softly. “Mr. Tanner, I can’t see myself handling the garment to that extent.”

“Didn’t have a problem handling it when you wrestled Marley into it,” Vin said.

“Well, that was an emergency situation. Men have been known… to repress their worst fears when disaster strikes.”

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with this coat.” Vin pulled the coat protectively close to him. Sure, he thought, it smells a bit and it's got some weird stains on it, but it’s warm and worn-in just perfect. They sat in silence for a minute. “Hungry?” Vin finally asked.

“Not particularly.”

Vin rooted around in the carpetbag and found the wrapped sandwiches. “You should eat.”

Ezra grimaced. “Please, I’m not up to it at the moment.”

Vin nodded and pulled one wrapped parcel from the bag. He’d get Ezra to eat eventually if he could, but Vin’s stomach was the one requesting to be fed at that moment. His hand touched the bottle and he pulled it clear. “You want some of this?”

Ezra lifted an eyebrow, watching the tracker. “You need ask?”

Vin filled the mug with liquor and set it beside Ezra again, watching in sympathy at the effort it took Ezra to lift his head and suck up some of the liquid from the cup.

“Fine liquor such as this was never meant to be imbibed in this manner,” Ezra said as he wrapped his free hand around the cup to draw it closer.

“Yeah,” Vin agreed, tipping back the bottle and taking a long draw. “Probably wasn’t meant to be drunk like this neither.”

The two continued to silently share the liquor as the sun colored the sky, as it sunk below the horizon. Tanner ate the sandwich silently, reserving half of it for later. He refilled Ezra’s cup more than once as the level of liquid became too low for Standish to easily manage. Tanner had no idea how badly Ezra was hurt, but at least he’d have something to take the edge off. He wished he could do something more.

When the sky was finally black, Ezra pushed the mug away again and stared off into the fire. “We are in dire straits, Mr. Tanner.”

“Yeah, pretty bad,” Vin admitted, drinking again.

“Help will come.”

“Yeah, Chris is expectin’ us to check in when we reach Cedar Ridge. I guess they got it figured by now that somethin’ may be wrong.”

“Won’t be long…” Ezra muttered.

“I figure they’ll be here a couple hours after sunrise.”

“Lord, I hope so.”

“Your leg hurt bad?”

Ezra paused before answering, the flickering light of the fire playing across his only half-visible face. “Not so bad now, Vin. It’s much more bearable than before. It’s probably little more than bruised.”

“Your shoulder? Maybe I could prop this thing up a bit.”

“Please!” Ezra responded quickly. His hand reached out and grabbed hold of Vin. “No! Please no.” His eyes flared in the low light. “Don’t."

“Okay…okay,” Vin replied, startled by the quick move.

“Leave it like it is.”

“Okay.”

“The weight keeps my shoulder from moving.” Ezra's eyes shone in the firelight. “Keep it still, please!” The plea in Ezra’s voice nearly broke Vin’s heart.

“I won’t touch the stage at all, okay?” Tanner lifted his free arm as if surrendering. “I don’t want to hurt you none.”

Ezra’s serious eyes studied Vin for a moment, then his clutching grip loosened, and he patted Vin softly. “I know. Forgive me.”

Vin sighed as Ezra rested his head again on the handkerchief, apparently wasted from the outburst. He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly.

Damn, Vin thought. Damn…damn…damn. It’s gonna be a long night.

TBC


	2. Second Half

PART 13:

“Winston,” Chris called as the telegraph operator left his office.

The man jumped at the unexpected voice and dropped his key. It clattered to the wooden walkway. “Mr. Larabee!” The boardwalk was dark and the voice had come out of the blackness. It was enough to take years off a man’s life.

“Done for the night?”

“Yes,” Juje responded. “There won’t be anything else coming in.”

“So you ain’t heard anything from Cedar Ridge?”

“It isn’t my place to talk about other people’s messages,” Juje said curtly.

Chris grimaced. “I just need to know if anything came in regarding Ezra and Vin.”

Juje looked annoyed. “Now, Mr. Larabee. I think you’re quite aware that I’d have sent Casper or June to you the moment something like that came in.” He picked up his key with a huff and fitted it into the lock. “I’m good at my job, Mr. Larabee. I don’t need you second guessing me.”

Chris lowered his head and resisted the urge to grab hold of the reed-thin man. “I think something happened to them on their way to Cedar Ridge. They should have wired in otherwise. Was there any trouble out there?”

Juje paused and then looked up at Larabee. He seemed to come to a decision when he said, “There was a message went from Cedar Ridge to Bedford saying something about the plan going all wrong and sending for a couple of folks.”

“Shit,” Larabee mumbled and turned on his heel – heading back toward the Redbird to gather the troops.

 

PART 14:

Vin did his best to keep his eyes open. He’d lost enough blood to keep him holed up for days in the clinic. If Nathan were here, he’d be demanding that Tanner rest. Jackson would probably be brewing up one of his teas to send him to sleep… but still Vin blinked at the fire, trying to stay awake.

His mare’s leg lay beside him, ready in case more of the bandits showed up. The gold in that chest would be a sore temptation for anyone. Tanner frowned, wishing that any fool who wanted it would just carry it off and leave them be.

Something rustled nearby. He lifted the Winchester and cocked it, ready. That noise was enough to awaken Ezra, and he watched in the low light of the campfire as Vin aimed into the darkness. “What is it?” Standish asked.

It scuttled about, a familiar sound of four paws tramping across the sandy plane. It moved just outside of the firelight. Vin set his jaw in disgust, realizing that there were other temptations than gold. “Coyotes,” he returned.

“The bodies…” Ezra said. “We should’ve…done something for them.”

“Not much we could do, Ezra,” Vin responded. “They’ll go for the horses first, I reckon.” The pattering sounds continued as more of the carnivores arrived, bold in spite of the fire. “They’ll avoid men if they got somethin’ else to go for.” He paused before he admitted, “There was buzzards earlier.”

“I know,” Ezra said. “I heard them.” He shuddered. “I do deplore those wretched birds.”

Something yipped near the front of the broken stage, and the call was returned. The animals were moving in. “These won’t come near us as long as we got the fire goin’,” Vin said confidently.

The coyotes scurried about the dead horses, then the men heard the uneasy sound of flesh being torn. The animals growled and fought as they sought out the best portions.

Ezra closed his eyes and lowered his head as the animals feasted on the horses. The coyotes snapped and yipped and bit, tearing into the dead.

“Dear Lord,” Ezra murmured as the noise became louder -- so near, just beyond the light of the fire. Vin’s sharp ears picked out about eight different animals, but their outcry sounded as if there were a couple dozen. It was horrible to sit there and listen to the work of the scavengers. The buzzards had been bad enough, but at least they were mostly silent in their work.

Tanner glanced down to Standish and saw him flinch at the sound of a hide ripping. Damn, he thought. It was bad enough to have to sit here and listen to it -- He found it hard to imagine what it would be like if one were trapped, unable to defend oneself.

Vin kept his weapon ready, searching for a target. When mirror-like eyes suddenly gleamed from the darkness, he fired.

The sharp report of the rifle, followed by a yip and a thump, stopped the fracas. A terrified scrambling was heard as the coyotes tore off into the blackness. Tanner fired the second load, chasing them further into the night.

“Thank you,” Ezra muttered. “I don’t believe I could stand listening to them for long.”

“Figure it gave ‘em a scare.” Vin nodded. “Might keep ‘em for a while.”

“My derringer,” Ezra asked quietly. “Might I have it back?”

Vin nodded and picked the little gun from Ezra’s carpetbag. “You got more ammo for this toy?”

“On my gun belt, which is rather inaccessible at this moment,” Ezra said with a smile. “Have you seen my other weapons?”

Vin shook his head as he put the derringer in Ezra’s hand. “Figure they're somewhere in this mess. Didn’t see ‘em when I was stumblin’ ‘round earlier. I got some cartridges for my rifle.”

Ezra hefted the little gun and seemed to relax somewhat, relieved to have the protection it could offer him. One shot wouldn’t be much, but it might keep him alive for a while longer.

“They’ll be back,” Ezra drawled slowly.

“Yeah, if they’re hungry enough,” Vin admitted. “Might be more quiet though -- just sneak in and sneak out. Might go after those bodies we left along the way. Figure they’ll let us be. They know we can bite now.”

 

PART 15:

At their table in the Redbird, a group of five lawmen huddled. One gave the facts. The others listened. Finally, the table fell silent.

“So, we leave now?” JD asked, as he shoved back his chair and stood.

“Hang on there, kid,” Buck replied. “We ain’t gonna get far tonight.” He worked at buttoning up his shirt as he spoke. Miss Katy would be disappointed, but she’d have to spend the rest of the evening alone.

“Not enough moon,” Josiah responded. “It’ll be as dark as pitch.”

“Yeah, but…” JD insisted. “They’ll be on the trail to Cedar Ridge. Won’t be too hard to follow. We can do it.” His plans for lunching with Casey would wait for another day.

“But how d'ya figure we’ll find our way?” Buck asked.

The young sheriff frowned. “We can follow the stars.”

Buck smiled widely. “Now, kid,” he said. “That works well for ship captains and wily trackers...”

“We’ll trip up our horses on some rock or hole,” Nathan added. “And if they ran into trouble, could be that they went off trail. Won’t be able to track in this darkness.'”

“We’ve done it before,” JD insisted.

 

“We had the moon before,” Buck told him, “Or banks of white snow. We have nothing tonight.”

“They could be perfectly fine,” Josiah put in. “Just because they didn’t wire us from Cedar Ridge tonight doesn’t mean anything.” He turned to Chris who hadn’t said anything past his original statement of facts and conjectures. “Could be that the stage had a bit of bad luck, lost a wheel maybe. They’ll make it in to Cedar Ridge tomorrow."

Nathan nodded and interjected, "They might have made it on time and figured they'd pester you a bit by not wirin' you 'til tomorrow." He added, “You agree, don’t you, Buck? It’d be best to just wait for morning.”

“Hold on now,” Buck said, lifting his hands. “I’m not sure if it’s ‘best’. Considerin’ the trouble those two can get into, I’m thinking that the ‘best’ for those two would be to keep ‘em hog-tied in the jail.” He turned to JD before continuing, “The fact that we ain’t gonna do any good looking for them right now is the only reason that I vote for leaving in the morning.”

JD turned to Chris to form one last appeal, but Larabee had stood and was headed to the doors of the Redbird. “Go to bed,” he muttered. “We leave at first light.”

 

PART 16:

Vin huddled in his blanket, shivering in the chill air. The blood-loss had made him groggy and cold, but he swore he’d stay awake. The coyotes aren't gonna git us, he declared.

He glanced to Ezra, finding him asleep again. Ezra couldn’t seem to keep his eyes open. He wondered if Ezra was cold, too. Ain't much of him I can cover and all the stuff on him should keep him from the chill, Vin reasoned. Still, better stoke up the fire some. It'll help with those varmints in any case. He glanced around the area and stretched out an arm to reach another piece of wood. He’d have to get up soon, or at least crawl a ways to replenish their firewood. His leg was stiff and painful and walking seemed out of the question at the time. He tossed the broken plank onto the fire. It popped and hissed as the treated wood hit the flames.

“No!”

The shout startled Vin. “Ez,” he said softly.

“Captain Culver… Captain!” Ezra called.

“It’s me, Ez. It’s Vin.”

“I promised him!” Ezra thrashed his arm out blindly, fighting some unknown person. He moved his head violently, unable to do anything more.

“Easy, Ez.” After a few abortive attempts, Vin finally grabbed hold of the moving arm. “Knock it off, Ez. Wake up!” Damn, at least Standish hadn’t kept hold of the gun.

“You butchers! You goddamn butchers!” Ezra's eyes were still firmly shut as he shouted at someone lost in his dreams.

“Calm down, Ezra!” Vin demanded. “Wake up!” He was finally able to corral Ezra’s hand and forced it to the ground.

The movements stopped as eyes snapped open and looked up at Vin in wonder. “Dear Lord,” Ezra sighed, finding himself totally immobilized.

“You okay now?” Vin asked. “If I letcha go, you ain’t gonna try and wrestle me?”

Ezra swallowed and tried to nod. When Vin released him, Ezra quickly drew in his hand. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to alarm you. I…” He was at a loss for words. “…had a rather intense dream.”

“I’ll say,” Vin responded.

Vin settled himself again and quickly checked his bandage. Apparently the sudden exercise hadn’t made it any worse. “Pretty bad dream?” he asked.

“Very,” Ezra murmured, looking away. “But it’s nothing to worry about.”

Vin frowned. “Who’s Captain Culver?”

Ezra’s eyes were startled and troubled as he glanced up at Vin. The paleness of his skin made the green of his eyes seem to glow. “I…” he started. “I…didn’t mean to…speak aloud.” He glanced about, as if looking for an escape route.

“I know.” They had a lot in common, Vin knew. Somewhere along the line, Ezra had learned that silence was preferable to any sound when one was vulnerable. They had both learned to keep their problems personal and not let their weaknesses be exposed. But there were times, Tanner realized, when one should talk.

“Who is he, Ez? You can tell me, ya know. Won’t say a word to no one.”

Ezra watched Tanner for a long moment, the firelight flickering across both their faces.

“My word as a Tanner,” Vin added.

Perhaps that was enough to bring Ezra to a resolution. “He was my captain during the hostilities,” he answered succinctly.

“You were in the War?” Vin puzzled. “You’re not that much older than me, Ez. You must’a been a kid.”

Ezra chuckled humorlessly. “I was a kid, just under fifteen and in an ‘unhappy’ situation. I saw the conflict as a means of… escaping it.”

“They let you in, even though you were so young?”

Ezra smiled slightly, laying his head on the handkerchief. “I suppose they were desperate,” he replied and said nothing for several moments. He breathed in slowly, as if still trying to calm down. His hand twitched. They were silent. Vin poured water into the cup and they shared the contents equally. The water was beginning to run low, but at least the heat of the day was over.

After the cup was empty, Ezra spoke again, his voice low and disconnected – as if he was talking from a dream. “I was able to convince the recruiters I was older. Started off as a foot soldier -- eager for adventure -- full of high ideals. I found only mud and hard work.”

Ezra sighed, his eyes directed toward the ground beneath him. “I soon tired of that and sought a… better position. I discovered that Captain Culver needed an assistant… and I found my way into his good graces. The Captain seemed pleased with what he saw… and I was conscripted into his service.” Ezra continued, speaking slowly as if with great effort, “He commanded an artillery unit.”

“Cannons?”

“Yes, Mr. Tanner.”

Vin chuckled very softly. “Figured you knew what the hell you were doin’ with that cannon back at the Seminole village. Weren’t aimin’ for Anderson a’tall, were you? And ya lied when I asked you about it.”

“I didn’t know you well, Mr. Tanner.”

Tricky bastard, Vin thought, watching as Ezra breathed slowly, as if gaining his strength again. God, he hoped that Chris and the others came as soon as it got light. He wasn’t certain how long Ezra would last. Already, he seemed to be half-off-his-head, talking about things that he usually kept hidden. 

“I was his personal secretary, writing letters… requisitioning rations, equipment, ammunition,” Ezra continued. “Lord, it was hard to get the simplest things. But I had a way of… acquiring necessary items.” A ghost of a smile played across his lips. Vin didn’t doubt that statement.

“We were better off than many, but try as I might, we starved much of the time… we often walked unshod… we rationed our ammunition… we froze at night.”

“Were you there long?”

“Long enough to hate it all,” Ezra said hollowly, and narrowed his eyes, turning his attention on the fire. “I learned what it was like to have companions. I learned what it was like to see them die. They always died: Tatty, Singer, Baldrige, Pricey. Everyone died.”

Vin said nothing, turning to watch the fire as well. He had been a boy during those years, living among the Comanche. The news of the conflict had just been curious information that made Shadow Step shake his head in wonder. The old chief hoped the white men killed enough of themselves to empty the land and leave his people alone -- Vin had half-hoped it would happen, too. The war had been a mythical thing, as distant to him as the legends of their forefathers…as far away as the shores of Lake Titicaca. He’d heard of the blood, the deaths, the destruction and hoped that it was never as bad as the tales he’d heard in the saloons, told by one-armed, one-eyed men.

If the tales were true, then hell had been wrought on earth, and Ezra, only a couple years older than himself, had been in the midst of it.

Softly, Ezra spoke again, “My captain was wounded in the leg. He was a good man. He was brave and proud and strong… and terrified of …amputation. He ordered me to come with him… to the army hospital, to watch out for him. I was sick with dysentery at the time… and hardly able to walk. I could leave the field for a few days. I was of no use to our unit in that state in any case.”

Ezra’s voice was becoming softer, as if he really wasn’t thinking about what he said. “He made me promise to protect him. I swore an oath that I wouldn’t allow the surgeons to remove his leg.”

Vin said nothing. He picked up the bottle of bourbon and took a deep draw, then filled the tin cup and set it beside Ezra, but he didn’t seem to be aware of it. Ezra was lost in another place and time and probably didn’t even fully register that Vin was beside him.

“The surgery was like a slaughterhouse, blood, saws, knives…” Ezra swallowed as he watched the flames dance, wishing they could wipe away the images that still came to him sometimes in the night. “There were so many men…boys…mutilated … missing limbs.” He shuddered as much as his trapped position would allow.

Vin didn’t speak.

“I pleaded to the surgeons. I tried to persuade them. I always thought I was rather… persuasive…” His voice trailed off for a moment. He licked his lips before continuing in that same distracted voice. “The captain’s wound was treatable...but the saw…”  
Ezra closed his eyes and brought his hand to his face again, covering it against the scrutiny of the stars. “I tried to stop them… I fought. But an orderly held me down. They tied me down.”

“Weren’t your fault, Ezra,” Vin said quietly.

“I swore an oath,” Ezra responded. "He trusted me…"

“You were sick. There was more than one of them.”

“I should’ve tried harder.” He breathed in deeply again. “He’d led us through the darkest of battles…the bloodiest conflicts. He’d kept up our spirits through freezing nights in poor clothing… empty bellies…endless days . He’d been a great man. I’d looked up to him. There’ve been so few men that I could…respect. Yet, after what they’d done to him…he was lost.”

They were silent. Vin drank another swallow of the bourbon and Ezra rubbed his eyes tiredly. “He… he cursed me for breaking my oath, for breaking that trust…and when he put his hands on a revolver, he ended his life.” Ezra sighed deeply. “I fled the hospital. I left the battlegrounds to the soldiers. I have always known enough to leave a table when I wasn’t winning.”

The next words came out quickly, as if he didn’t dare to stop and think about them. “I left for the Caribbean and acquired a managing position on a blockade-runner until the end of the war. I made a fortune charging inflated prices for common goods. I cheated soldiers, widows and orphans, charging as much as the market could bear for what I was able to get past the blockade. At that, I was a success. Cheating and conning…it’s what I was born for.”

Not knowing what else to do, Vin continued to drink the bourbon, not even noticing its fine flavor. After a minute, he said, “He shouldn’t ‘ave blamed ya, Ez.” What right did that Culver have to blame a kid?

“You didn’t know him,” Ezra replied. “He was a great man and I failed him”

“Naw, you didn’t. You done the best you could,” Vin responded, thinking that a greater man would have suffered his loss, would have gone on living instead of taking a coward’s way out. A greater man wouldn’t have placed such a weight on the shoulders of a sick kid who had done everything he could to help. “Wasn’t you that failed.”

Ezra didn’t answer. The telling of the tale seemed to drain Standish of whatever energy he had left. He drifted off to sleep. Vin sighed, understanding a bit more about his friend. “Sorry they done that, Ezra,” he muttered. “They had no right.”

 

PART 17:

Chris stared up at the rough-hewn boards that made up the ceiling of his room. The boarding house was quiet. The sun would rise in a few more hours, and he spent the time trying to find some rest – but none would come to him.

He kept recalling recent history. He remembered when Vin and Ezra failed to return after investigating a fire over a year ago. He remembered when they didn’t come back after spending the day repairing the Widow Parker’s house, and when Ezra disappeared from the Redbird. He remembered when Ezra and Vin never reached Blaire to deliver their prisoner.

Time and time again, they’d failed to show up on schedule. Time and time again they’d been hurt – nearly killed. And now, they were missing. Yes, they might have simply had some trouble on the way to Cedar Ridge. They might have arrived too late to send a wire, delayed a bit on the trail. Could be that they were fine. Maybe they were just jerking his chain, biding their time.

At Christmas, they’d been fine. There’d been no reason to be alarmed.

“Lord,” Chris said softly. “Let them be safe again. Let me be wrong about this. Let them be perfectly fine.”

There was no answer in the small room and Chris continued to stare at the ceiling, awaiting morning.

 

PART 18:

“Vin,” Ezra’s soft call brought Tanner back to reality.

“What?” Vin asked, staring out past the dead fire. He had meant to keep it going, but once he was unable to reach anymore loose wood, he’d decided to let it go. If he could move, he would have tended it, but at the moment, his limbs were like lead and his head swam at every movement. Morning was nearly upon them. It couldn’t come fast enough as far as Vin was concerned.

“They’re back.”

“I know,” Tanner returned. He’d heard the return of the coyotes, and had tugged his weapon close, waiting to see if they dared to come closer. The coyotes were wary now, moving about with great stealth to avoid the humans.

He tried to see Ezra, but it was too dark to perceive anything more than a shadow. He could make out that Standish was pointing something into the night. Must have found his gun when he woke, Tanner thought. Vin could hear Ezra's heavy breathing -- probably scared him half to death when he heard those varmints again.

They listened to the movements in the night. Creatures of stealth, the coyotes knew exactly how close they could come without being harmed. They kept the bulk of the stage between them and the humans.

One of the coyotes tussled with another. They growled and barked and worked on the carcasses. Finally, Vin fired another shot in their direction. Instantly, the skulking things tore off. He dropped the rifle to his side. He’d replace the cartridge in a moment or two, but he was too damn tired to do anything about it immediately. God, all he wanted to do was sleep. His leg was throbbing and he felt incredibly thirsty, but there was hardly any water left and he didn’t want to succumb to the temptation just yet.

“They’ll return, I fear,” Ezra mentioned.

“Yup,” was all Vin could say in response.

“We’d best stay awake.” Ezra spoke slowly, saying each word distinctly.

“Good thought.”

“A discussion perhaps,” Ezra suggested.

“Yeah, we could talk.”

After a pregnant pause, Ezra asked, “Do you have a topic to propose?”

Vin touched his leg, feeling sore and tired and dizzy. He tried to figure out if his bandage was still doing its job. It felt dry to the touch, but that was all he could decide at that moment. All in all, he didn’t think he was up to holding a conversation, but he knew Ezra was right -- they had to stay awake. “Dunno, Ez. Figure there must be somethin’ we could talk about.” He wondered about Ezra’s life as a foot soldier, as an Officer’s Aide, aboard a blockade-runner. Goddamn, Ezra, he thought, you lived a long life before you even became a man.

He wondered what the Caribbean was like. “You travel a lot, Ezra?”

“I’ve been on the move …my whole life.”

“You see lots of places? Europe and all that?”

“Aside from a few excursions to Mexico… and my stint in the islands… I’ve been bound to this country.”

“But you read about other countries all the time.”

“I find it soothing.”

“Yeah, I kinda like it, too.” Vin nodded in the darkness. He’d come to feel great pride with his reading. “I’ve read a good part of that Japan book, but I’ve damn near read the words off of the South America one. I figure I could probably go down there now and know where everything is. It’s perty close. I could go, easy.”

“Yes,” Ezra answered quietly. “The idea is enticing.”

“You could come with me.”

He heard Ezra’s soft chuckle. “It would be an interesting excursion. But I’m prefer… comforts.”

“You ever think about goin’ to Lake Titicaca?”

He was quiet for a moment, before saying, “Not recently, no.”

Vin laughed. “I figure I could go. Those Incas think it’s a sacred place. Might be a thing to see. I'd like to see those floating island.” He shrugged and added, “It’d be good to go just so’s I could tell everyone where I’d been. Make ‘em laugh if nothin’ else.”

“The air is thin. The land is cold and barren.” Ezra drew in a deep breath. “One must travel by mule for days. Horses die of lung fever. Nothing thrives. Few are able to reach it.”

“That’d just make it more worthwhile,” Vin suggested. “It’d feel kinda special bein’ at the highest ‘navigable’ lake in the world.”

“The shores of Lake Titicaca are not easily achieved.”

“I ain’t afraid of workin’ for somethin’.”

“It’s a lost and lonely place… and so far away,” Ezra replied tiredly. 

"What about those islands?" Vin asked. "Wouldn't you want to see that?"

Ezra sighed. "They are far from shore, and none would want to come near. The effort expended to reach the place would hardly… match the goal attained.” He took a moment before he spoke again. “There’s nothing there of worth.”

“Ah, hell, Ezra,” Vin retorted. “What kind of worth you lookin’ for? Those Incas think it’s a pretty important place. And we’re sittin’ here with a big box of gold near us and we got no use for it. Figure it’s more harm than good at this point.”

Ezra laughed lightly. “Touché, my friend. I hadn’t even thought about that treasure… until you mentioned it. There were other more…pressing…matters to consider.”

“Pressing?” Vin chuckled. “Anyway, Ez, I figure some things are worth a little effort.” Vin reached out and laid his hand congenially on Ezra’s head, then groaned as soon as his hand touched him. “Ah hell, Ez,” he muttered, feeling clammy, cold skin. “Damn it!” He felt in the darkness, running his hands along Ezra’s wet hair. Damn! Something was wrong. Something was seriously wrong.

“I’m fine, Mr. Tanner,” Ezra assured softly, his voice sounding tired and quiet.

“The hell you are!" Vin shouted back.

“Nothing can be done, in any case.”

“God, you’re cold and you’re sweatin’ like crazy. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Honestly, Vin. I hardly noticed…” Ezra’s voice trailed off, the words beginning to slur together.

Vin felt for his match case and pulled out a lucifer, striking it on the lid. In the flickering light of the little match, Ezra’s face looked ghastly white. He blinked, his eyes clouded and unfocused. “Ah, shit,” Vin groaned. He snuffed out the match and pulled the blanket off of his shoulders. He quickly worked it around Ezra, covering his head. He edged his way back to the dead fire.

“It’s gotten darker,” Ezra said, sounding perplexed.

“That’s 'cause I put a blanket over your fool head!” Vin yelled back, concerned that Ezra didn’t remember that fact. “I’ll get it off you in a second. Gotta get this fire goin’.”

“Vin, it’s nearly dawn,” Ezra spoke as Vin tried to find live coals. “No sense in expending...”

“Shut up, Ezra!” Vin barked. “Shut your damn mouth for once and hang on, okay?” Vin found a few remaining embers and worked to bring the fire back to life. He had to crawl and blunder about in the darkness to find more wood.

“It’s not so bad, Vin,” Ezra continued, his accent thick and his voice hardly above a whisper. “It doesn’t really hurt anymore…It’s okay.”

“Just be quiet!” Vin demanded. “Let me get this fixed then I’ll see what I can do. God, Ezra!” He reached blindly to find more loose boards, straining his wounded leg. He’d start his leg bleeding again, but at that moment he only wanted to get Ezra warmed up. His fingers finally closed on a few boards and he slammed them noisily into a pile. Breathing harshly, he coaxed a flame from the embers. “Ya still with me, Ez?”

The sky was taking on the earliest hues of morning light as the fire awoke under Vin’s tending.

“It’s so dark…” Ezra voice was hardly above a whisper.

“I’m comin’.”

“So dark…”

“Hang on there!”

“Sometimes…” Ezra's voice was so low Vin could hardly hear it. “Sometimes, I feel so alone.”

Vin immediately moved back to Ezra. “I’m here, Ez. I’m here,” he said softly as he rearranged the blanket so that he could see Ezra’s face in the meager light. “Ya ain’t alone.”

Ezra gazed beyond him, illuminated by the flickering flame. “Vin?”

“I’m here. I ain’t gonna go. I got the fire started. Gonna have to tend it a bit. Get ya warmed up. I gotta get you outta here, Ez. Find out what’s wrong with you.”

“Are they comin’ still?”

“Yeah, Ez. They’re almost here. Just hang on, okay?”

Ezra blinked and seemed to focus on something far away. “I think I hear them.”

The night was silent. Vin strained his hearing and couldn’t find the hoof-beats that Ezra imagined. The fire was dying. “They’ll be here any minute. We’ll get cha out.”

Ezra’s green eyes finally met Vin’s, looking puzzled and lost. “I don’t feel so good, Vin.” And then his head lolled and he closed his eyes.

Tanner sat beside him as the fire faded and then the pre-morning light illuminated the land around them. He watched, making certain that Ezra still breathed. God, he looks sick. Ezra trembled for a moment in his sleep and was still again. His pale skin had the clammy feeling that came with shock and blood-loss. Somewhere, beneath the heavy stagecoach, Ezra was bleeding … and had been for hours.

Good God, what was he going to do?

“We’ll get you out, Ezra,” Vin pledged. “Just hang on a little longer” He brushed Ezra’s sweat-soaked hair back so that he could see his grim face. “Just a little while. They’ll come.”

Vin noticed his own bandage was spotting with blood. Damn, he’d have to take care of that. Their bags were nearby and the bottle of alcohol was at hand. It would only take a moment to re-do the bandage. He had to get the fire going again. His gaze drifted from his injury, back to Ezra. It could wait for a moment.

Too tired to sit up any longer, Vin lay down beside the small portion of Ezra that was visible. If he’d had any strength, he would try digging Ezra out. If he could move at all, he’d just squat down and lift the whole damn stage off of him. God, if he’d known, he might have tried harder earlier. It would have put Ezra through some pain, but at least he’d be out and tended to. Vin closed his eyes, angry at his inability to help his friend.

He clasped Ezra’s hand and tried to remain awake. Daylight would make the coyotes shy. Daylight would bring the others. Daylight would bring help. “I ain’t gonna leave ya. Gonna take care of you, okay?”

He rubbed his eyes, determined to keep sleep at bay, but his own injury had taken its toll. He slipped into a slumber, his hand still holding onto Ezra’s.

 

PART 19:

Chris sipped his coffee as he waited in the Redbird. Inez came ahead of her usual schedule and had been there before dawn with him.

Josiah was the next to show up, also while the sky was still dark. The two of them sat in silence, ready for a difficult ride. JD and Buck arrived together just as the sun broke the horizon.

The four regulators waited, drinking their coffee, getting ready to go. Nobody had much to say. They all had their own silent worries to occupy them. Nathan was the last to walk through the door, delayed by packing everything he thought he might require. When Jackson finally strode in, Inez pressed a mug into his hand and nodded him out the door. The other peacekeepers followed.

Before Larabee made his way out, Inez grabbed hold of his arm and said quietly, “Bring them back.” Her eyes seemed to bore into Larabee’s. “Please,” she added.

Chris gripped the brim of his hat and nodded tightly to the saloon manager before he followed his men into the new day.

 

PART 20:

Ezra opened his eyes slowly and gazed out at the warming day. He felt strangely detached, as if he was no longer part of his body.

He blinked and tried to swallow. The world floated around him. He was lost in it, held tight to the ground while everything drifted around him.

He felt as remote as a lake, too high in the mountains. As lonely as a floating island.

The world was drifting away. Nothing seemed real any longer -- it was all a haze. Sounds became muddled to a constant buzz. Light was fading even as the day grew warmer.

He was leaving soon.

There was so much he was going to miss.

A black speck hovered in his eyesight for a moment before disappearing. It took him several minutes to realize that it was a fly. The insect landed on his face and danced about to aggravate him. Ezra tried to shift his head to dislodge it, but it seemed of little use. The fly continued to scuttle over his face. Worse yet, he didn’t seem able to lift his hand to swat it away. Something weighted it down.

Slowly, he turned his head so that he could see his hand. He focused on the indistinct form beside him. It took some effort, but he finally was able to comprehend that it was Vin -- the was the reason his arm couldn’t move.

Vin, he thought, and tried to smile.

With some effort, Ezra squeezed his hand, barely feeling Vin’s gentle grip. The tracker didn’t move, too exhausted to stir.

With a tired sigh, Ezra closed his eyes, knowing that, at least, he wasn’t alone.

 

PART 21:

Chris kept his horse at a quick gait as he followed the tracks left by the stage. He watched the horizon, hoping that they’d find them soon…or hoping that he wouldn’t find them at all -- that Vin and Ezra had spent the morning looking for that new tailor in Cedar Ridge, causing trouble and annoying the residents.

Buck rode alongside, watching his friend. “We’ll find ‘em,” he assured.

Chris grunted in response.

“Ya figure those bandits caught up with them?” JD asked innocently as he caught up.

Chris threw JD a deadly glare and Buck rolled his eyes in commiseration for his young friend.

JD fell back immediately and joined Nathan and Josiah. “I hoping they made it through just fine," JD said. “Maybe they made it to town after the wire shut down for the night and we left too early to get any word from them when it opened this morning.”

“I certainly hope that’s right, JD,” Josiah responded. They looked up when Chris and Buck came to a halt before them. Chris squinted at something and then spurred his horse to a gallop. The others followed in close pursuit.

Some strange hump altered the landscape.

At first, JD had trouble deciding what the shape was. It was only as they were closing on it that he realized it was the stagecoach, tipped over -- its busted top pointing toward them. JD and the others slowed as they passed the tumbled bodies that littered the path to the coach. Apparently the scavengers had found them already; they were ripped and torn and left to the sun. Each one was scrutinized. They looked for a familiar face, hoping not to find one.

Chris spurred his horse onward, leaving the others behind at their task. In his heart, he knew that his men wouldn’t be left on the trail. They’d be at the stage. They’d be just fine, sitting there waiting for help to arrive -- guarding the gold and getting impatient in the wait.

He drew his gun as he came nearer. Ezra and Vin should be standing to meet them. Ezra should be grinning, showing off his gold tooth. Vin should be leaning against the downed stage and calling him 'Cowboy'.

He searched, recognizing the coachman stretched on the sand, then the driver not far from the front of the vehicle. He crouched low without dismounting to glance into the coach. The large chest was visible in the smashed interior. He tightened his jaw. Why was it unguarded? Damn, if it was still here and his men weren’t guarding it… Damn. Damn it all!

He rounded to the front of the stage and grimaced at the sight of the dead horses, broken by the accident, shot by a gun, torn by scavengers and buzzing with flies. A few bold coyotes and buzzards still lingered, but shied at the gunslinger’s approach. Chris skirted them, pulling wide around the tangled heap, still looking for his missing men. Where? They wouldn’t have left the gold behind. No, they would have at least hidden it if they had to walk out. Damn!

An unfamiliar man in gray and green was flopped on his back, shot in the chest. Beside him -- a dead coyote. Chris kept moving.

He saw the dying fire next as he came around, then drew his horse to an instant stop. Vin was curled on his side, tucked in between the wheels. His leg wrapped and bandaged and reddened with blood. A canteen lay by his side, along with a half-empty bottle of whiskey. “Vin!” He leaped down from his saddle.

“Vin!” Chris called again as he fell to his knees beside the tracker. He did a double take when his gaze suddenly landed upon Ezra, only his head was visible from beneath the broken stage. A blanket haphazardly covered part of his arm and neck. Standish looked dead … gray. “God, no.”

“Nathan!” Larabee shouted. Ezra’s one arm was outstretched, and Larabee noted with a sad heart that Vin had been holding onto him. Carefully he pulled Tanner’s hand away. Ezra’s fell lifelessly to the ground.

Tanner groaned as Chris rolled him onto his back. “Vin, come on, wake up,” Chris encouraged, hearing the others charging up. He glanced discontentedly at the trapped Standish, fearing the worst. A fly buzzed and crawled across Ezra’s pale cheek, acting as if it owned the place. With a scowl, Larabee swatted at it, shooing it away. Damn it! Stay off him!

If Standish was dead…Chris winced at the thought, realizing he’d never have a chance to explain. Too late, he thought. I’m always too damn late.

He turned his attention on Tanner, who stirred and grimaced, and breathed -- which was more than he could say for certain about Ezra. “Vin,” he called.

Tanner squinted and then blinked, looking up at Chris in confusion. “Chris,” he croaked. “Goddamn, Chris.” He tried to sit up, but Larabee kept him down.

“Keep still. Nathan’s coming.”

“Ezra,” Vin groaned. He raised his hand, as if trying to clasp onto him.

Chris’ eyes flicked toward the unmoving form -- so damn still, so pale and limp -- trapped and crushed. The fly buzzed around him, considering landing again.

“Nathan’s coming,” Chris repeated, not wanting to say any more.

In a moment Jackson was there, his medical bag in hand and Josiah beside him. They naturally noticed Vin first. The healer squatted beside Larabee, examining their hurt friend. Josiah leaned in to help, and was startled when he finally saw the hidden member of their team.

“Oh, dear God,” Sanchez murmured, quickly squeezing himself into the small space and crouching down beside Ezra’s head. He pulled away the blanket at looked up, stricken, to the healer. “Nathan…” Josiah turned his eyes on Chris, hoping he could tell him that Ezra was still alive.

“Help him,” Vin managed to croak out, pressing a hand against Nathan. “Nate, help him. Don’t let him…”

Nathan, seeing that Vin was still fighting, shifted his attention to Ezra. He lay his fingers against Ezra’s neck. Josiah angrily swatted the buzzing fly to the ground, and smote it into the sand.

JD and Buck charged into the group, and they watched in silence as Jackson hunched under a big wheel and searched for a sign of life in Standish.

“Buck,” JD said softly. “He ain’t dead, is he?”

Chris winced again as he hung onto Vin. Not dead…not yet. Don’t let him be dead and gone and beyond us now.

Buck didn't respond. He dismounted and pulled his bedroll from his saddle and set it out for Vin. He handed Chris his canteen.

Nathan let out a slow breath and said, “His heart’s still beatin’, the stubborn cuss.”

At those words, Chris released a sigh. Thank God!

“Let’s get him the hell out of there,” Buck commanded. “Now!” Josiah was trembling with energy as he searched the stage for a good handhold.

Not moving from his position, Nathan lifted one hand and said, “Not so quick.” He frowned as he kept the other hand on Ezra’s neck, feeling his pulse. He glanced at the coach and added, “Seems to have lost a lot of blood.” He paused before saying, “Might have crushed something inside him.”

Chris was trying to give Vin some of the water from Buck’s canteen when Tanner said, “Shoulder’s out. Said his leg hurt. Told me he wasn’t feelin’ it anymore when I talked to him last.”

“He was awake?” Nathan asked, glad for that small bit of good news.

“On and off,” Vin responded. “Been sleepin’ a lot. I think he got real hurt. Told me he didn’t feel so good.”

“Damn well reason enough to get this shit off of him,” Buck barked.

“It’s been weighing on him for hours, Buck. Workin’ like a tourniquet or a pressure bandage, I think.” Nathan rubbed his chin. “Slowin’ down his blood.”

“When we move it, he might bleed out in a hurry,” Josiah realized. His soft blue eyes taking in the heavy vehicle, understanding that the weight of the thing that trapped Ezra might also have helped to keep him alive, but – God – it might have torn him up, too. He ran the back of one hand over Ezra’s face, feeling the cold chill. The preacher closed his eyes and said a silent prayer.

“JD, get that fire goin’ hot," Nathan demanded as he started going through his bag. He needed to be ready. When the coach was lifted, he’d have to act fast. Ezra had lost blood. If Ezra’s insides were busted up, then there wasn’t much Nathan could do. Hopefully Standish would just die in a hurry without waking up. If he had a deep laceration and the bleeding was bad, at least there’d be hope. As pale as Ezra was, Nathan realized that he couldn’t allow him to lose any more blood. The quickest solution would be to cauterize the wound. He found his firebrand in the bag and hefted it in his hand. The fire had better be hot.

Unable to do much for Ezra until the fire was ready, he moved to Vin to check the bandaged wound. 

“Help him,” Vin said softly as Nathan hovered over him. He blinked, obviously fighting to stay awake. Vin’s sharp eyes looked up at Chris, pleadingly. “I tried, Chris. I couldn’t move it.”

“You did your best,” Chris answered. “You did everything you could.”

Nathan nodded reassuringly. “We’re gonna get him out, but we gotta wait for the fire. I swear we’ll get him out of there, Vin.”

Vin nodded numbly, accepting Nathan’s promise.

Jackson continued, “How you feelin’?”

“Like shit,” Vin responded. “Leg hurts fierce.” He grimaced. “Damn thirsty. Didn’t have enough water. Shared it -- 50-50.”

Nathan said, “Gotta get your leg fixed up and get some water into you.” Losing blood and rationing water was never a good combination. He glanced at the half-empty bottle of bourbon. “You fellas drink a lot of that?”

“Not much…considering. Used it to fix this.” Vin frowned at the soiled bandage.

Nathan was grateful that they hadn’t consumed much of the liquor. It would have only further dehydrated them. Now, if he could just get Vin fixed up, he might be able to save one of the two men.

They moved Vin onto the bedroll. The healer undid the bandage as Chris tilted the canteen for Vin. Jackson nodded to himself when he saw how the wound was doing. It was rather clean, showing that Vin had done a good job of taking care of it. Thank God! Sometimes, it seemed that these men would just forget about proper care of themselves when another of their group was in peril.

The bleeding had stopped, but would need a stitch or two to hold the wound together and stop the wound from reopening. The stiff and crusty jeans, hacked off just above the wound, let him know that it had bled a lot. He glanced to JD and Buck who were working on the fire -- it would take a little while to get it hot enough.

“I’ll give Vin some laudanum and then I’ll give this a good cleanin’.” Nathan pulled the bottle out of his bag and measured out a dose into a cup of water. 

Tanner sighed and then drank it down, shaking his head at the taste of the medicine.

Jackson handed a fresh cloth to Chris. “I’ll need you to put some pressure on it once I’m done.”

Chris watched his friend’s face as Tanner fought the weariness, the pain and the drug. Vin was struggling to stay awake. “It’s okay now,” Larabee assured. “You can sleep. We’ll take care of him.”

Tanner gave Chris a relieved look and then closed his eyes and drifted off.

 

PART 22:

“Ready?” Chris called. Josiah and Buck nodded. “Okay. One…two…three…LIFT!” With a grunt the three men levered the stage up, grasping the heavy contraption and raising it upward. Inside, things rumbled and rolled. The heavy trunk tumbled. They had considered removing the chest first, but figured that the pressure should remain as stable as possible to the end -- and nobody wanted to climb inside the stage to retrieve it. The dead horses had been dragged off the wagon tongue only moments ago.

“Now!” Nathan demanded. Dunne and Jackson grabbed hold, pulled Ezra out from underneath, and gently set him down. Ezra moved slightly, trying to draw his legs up and curl into a ball. Still on his stomach, he could do little. Quickly, Jackson scrutinized him, looking for signs of injury, finding the blood-soaked leg. Nathan fell on the wound with a bandage, pressing all his weight on the now freely bleeding gash on the back of his shin. Bright blood replaced the darker stain on Ezra’s trouser leg. His whole trouser leg was soaked through. Ezra responded, weakly. His face drew up in a grimace and his hands clenched.

“JD!” Nathan shouted. “Get your weight on this. I need to check him.”

JD nodded tightly as the other three men carefully lowered the stage, trying to keep the dust from flying. Dunne changed places with the healer and did as he was told. Jackson left the wound to the young sheriff as he started his search, running his hands over the cool skin, looking for other injuries.

Ezra gasped and his eyelids fluttered for a moment before he was still again. “Hang on, Ezra,” Jackson muttered as he worked.

“You need anything, Nathan?” Josiah asked, turning his eye on the firebrand, glowing cherry-bright in the fire.

“Give me a minute,” Jackson responded, unbuttoning Ezra’s suspenders and pulling up his shirt and vest. “Keep all your weight on him, JD!” Nathan glanced at the sheriff, who seemed a little timid at his task. “You ain’t gonna hurt him any worse now. Get on that wound!” He’d swap out Dunne if the sheriff wasn’t up to the task, but the young man nodded determinedly and did as he was told.

JD kept his gaze on Ezra’s face, but Ezra had fallen back into a deeper level of unconsciousness. “Sorry, Ez,” Dunne said under his breath as he leaned against the vicious cut.

Jackson scrutinized Standish’s back – it was a mix of black and blue and red. The stage had come down hard and scraped him up, but his kidneys and spine might have made it through undamaged. His shoulder was definitely out. Damn, Nathan thought. It’ll be a trick to get it in place again after so long. He sighed, realizing another dislocation was not a good thing. Ezra's damn trick shoulder seemed to be getting worse.

He felt along his limbs, thankful to find no sign of broken bones. A quick examination of the ribs revealed that although they were badly bruised, they were intact. It was a miracle that the stage hadn’t smashed him to pieces. The soft sand and a few well-placed rocks must have saved him from further injury.

He made a motion to Josiah and the big man squatted down to help. The two rocked Ezra to one side, to continue his examination. They unbuckled his shoulder harness and gun belt and eased them off. Ezra’s stomach and chest seemed mostly unharmed, no telltale discoloration or distention that would come from something gone wrong inside, only a deep mottling of bruises to show that he was shoved into the sand with some force.

“Nathan?” Chris asked the question.

The healer nodded. “Okay. It’s okay.” He smiled weakly at their leader. “I don’t think he’s ruptured anythin’. Will have to wait and see to be sure about that. Bones seem to be sound, but that pernickety shoulder of his is out. He was movin’ a bit, and that’s good news. Means his spine ain’t broke.” He sighed in relief as he continued his scrutiny. He nodded toward JD who was sweating as he pressed against the torn leg, and said, “That seems to be the worst of it. Something must have dragged it’s way into him and cut him up. Probably had enough weight on him to keep the bleedin’ slow, but it kept workin’ on him and bleedin’ out all this time. Must’a hurt somethin’ fierce.”

Chris didn’t look relieved at this news. His eyes were on Ezra’s wan face. The accident had happened yesterday afternoon. How long had Ezra suffered? Josiah sat beside Ezra, laying one of his great hands on Ezra’s head.

“How bad is it?” Larabee asked.

“Gonna see if the pressure stops the bleeding.” Nathan said as he moved alongside JD. “Figure it’d be best if I can stitch it instead of burn it. That way I can get it cleaned out proper. Not tellin’ what sorta crap got in that cut. Gotta keep it from goin’ gangrene.”

Buck milled around, wanting to be of some help, but not knowing what to do. Finally, he stood behind JD and rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder. JD looked up and smiled, keeping his weight firmly on Ezra’s torn leg. Chris, unable to just watch and do nothing, moved back to the sleeping tracker. He sat down beside Tanner and kept a silent watch on him. Vin slept uneasily.

“Hang on, son,” Josiah whispered. “Hang on.”

“Hand me the brand, Buck,” Nathan ordered tensely.

“Ya gonna have to do it?” JD asked, his voice high with worry. He’d never seen a wound cauterized before and he hoped he’d never have to. He wrinkled his nose, imagining the smell of burning flesh, and pressed harder, hoping to save Ezra from that.

“If the wound’s bleeding still, I’m gonna have to burn it,” Nathan responded. “Ain’t gonna let him lose any more blood.”

Buck picked the glowing brand from the fire and crouched down beside Nathan, ready to hand it off if needed. Nathan sucked in a breath and nodded to JD to pull back the bandage. Josiah carefully leaned against Ezra, holding down his right arm, and trying to avoid his displaced left shoulder. Chris sat up, ready to spring to his feet if he was needed.

JD pulled back the bandage and got out of the way, afraid of what would happen next. Nathan paused. He observed for a moment, then pulled a knife from its sheath and cut back the blood-soaked cloth of Ezra’s trousers, fully exposing the long gash. “Thank the Lord,” he breathed, noting that the bright red blood was minimal. “Let’s get his legs propped up a bit, and hand me the whiskey, JD. I’ll get this cleaned out and then stitched up.”

Josiah sighed in relief and rustled Ezra’s stiff chestnut hair. “You’re gonna be okay, son,” he said softly. As his glance took in Ezra’s grayish skin, he added, “Please, be okay.”

 

PART 23:

Vin comprehended only bits and pieces of what went on around him. Nothing made sense.

He opened his eyes and Chris was there, watching him with worried eyes. Vin moved his hand as if he could still latch onto Ezra's, but he was gone. “Ezra,” he rasped, frantic to find him. His eyes met Chris'. Larabee said something that didn’t seem to answer the question. “He okay?” Vin asked, and instead of an answer, Chris gave him more water. God, he was thirsty -- he could drink a whole lake of water.

Chris turned away, focusing his attention on something nearby. JD was standing beside him, with a hand pressed to his chest as if he was trying to not look horrified. Both were looking in the same direction. Vin glanced over and saw Nathan and Josiah with Ezra. Josiah had Ezra sitting up. For a moment Vin thought that Ezra was okay, but he seemed so limp in Josiah’s arms. He watched as Nathan wrenched Ezra’s shoulder back into its joint in one difficult maneuver. It made a sickening popping sound and Ezra made a sharp cry that sent Vin back into sleep.

When Vin woke again, a wagon was parked near him and Buck was stepping down from his seat. It had appeared from nowhere -- like a mirage on the high desert. Yosemite was there, too. 

Chris and Josiah lifted him and for a moment he was floating in the air. Then he was settled in the wagon. He drifted, listening absently as something else was placed in the wagon beside him.

The ride in the wagon was a disconnected series of visions. As the vehicle bounced over the rough ground, he caught sight of Nathan and Josiah near him. Yosemite drove the wagon. Sometimes he’d see the face of a rider on horseback near the wagon -- Chris or Buck or JD. Voices.

Ezra was next to him, in the straw and blankets that lined the wagon. Josiah sat in the far corner at Ezra's side. Vin wanted to ask how Standish was doing, but the lost look on Josiah’s face spoke volumes. Sanchez kept placing his hand on Ezra, kept holding onto him. 

Don’t let go, Vin thought. Don’t let him think he's alone.

Nathan was between them. It seemed that every time Vin opened his eyes, Nathan was hovering. “How ya feelin’, Vin?” “Ya doin’ okay, Vin?” “Hang on a bit longer, Vin. We’re almost home.” “Have some more water.” Jackson's rich voice accompanied him the whole way back.

Then, suddenly, someone was carrying him. He floated again, as if on water. He traveled as if lying back in a rowboat. Someone stripped off his clothing and settled him in a bed. Someone piled on blankets to help combat the chill that had found him. ; His mind was drifting, like a reed island floating on the surface of a lake.

He blinked numbly at the figures around him, trying to make sense of them all.

“Go to sleep, Vin,” someone said. And so he did.

 

PART 24:

Chris pressed open the door to the clinic. Outside, night had fallen. From the saloons, a rowdy noise and yellow light filled the street. Townfolk and visitors, ranchers and wranglers were whoopin’ it up in the streets and taverns. It was a typical Saturday night in Four Corners.

The atmosphere within the clinic was vastly different, silent and still.

“How’re they doin’?” Larabee asked.

Nathan yawned and stretched. “Vin’s doing fine. Been awake a few times. Lost a good bit of blood, but that bullet hole looks okay after cleaning. He’ll be tired out and sore for a while, but I figure he’ll be up and causing trouble in no time.”

Chris turned to his friend. Tanner lay on his back, his suntanned face looking paler than normal. He slept easily, restoring the strength that had bled out of him through that hole in his leg, through that long wait in the desert without much water. Vin muttered and moved quietly in his sleep.

Jackson’s soft smile dropped as he turned his head toward the other bed. Ezra was still far too pale, with the blankets pulled up to his neck. His legs were raised on a pillow to cushion his injury and to keep him from shock. From time to time a tremor would run through him but he was otherwise as still as a corpse.

Nathan rubbed his neck and stated, “He’s got a bit of a fever now. Pretty bruised up. I got his arm tied so he won’t try and move it, and that shoulder’s gonna ache for a while. Got that that gash stitched, but it’s a bit infected.” The healer sighed. “I’ve done what I can to draw it out with a poultice, but he’s gonna need to take some medicine to fight it, some water, too, but I can’t wake him up. He hardly stirred a’tall."

Chris Larabee ground his teeth in frustration. They’d found the two men that morning and brought them back with the gold. Funny, how annoying the precious chest had become. It had too much monetary value to leave on the desert. It was a temptation -- a danger. It had to come back with them. In the wagon, it was only a box that weighed them down and got in the way.

As far as Larabee was concerned, the chest had no value whatsoever

All day long, during the trip home and then in the clinic, Vin had wavered in and out of consciousness, always asking for Ezra when he woke. Nathan treated him patiently, answering his questions without revealing too much.

Ezra, on the other hand, hadn’t shown signs of awakening. When Nathan cleaned out the wound -- pulling out long slivers of wood -- he’d made a token struggle, shifting his legs slightly and turning his head with a sharp intake of breath, but that was the extent of his movements. Even as night fell, Standish remained unconscious. Nathan had done what he could, treating his bruises and scrapes, taking care of the gash on his leg where some sharp part of the stagecoach had carved its way through him. A difficult infection had settled in now that needed to be knocked out.

“How bad is it,” Chris asked tersely, “if he doesn’t wake up soon?”

Nathan closed his eyes as if struck by a pain. How many times would he have to say those words… if Ezra didn’t wake up soon, he’d die. Damn, it had been too often. Memories of finding Ezra in Kotter’s Ridge still haunted the healer, memories of bringing him back from Vaughn ranch after he’d been held captive for a week, beaten and off his head. Why does this have to happen? Why can’t I help him more than this?

Nathan bit his lip. “I’ve tried dropping water into his mouth, just a bit at a time, but he ain’t swallowing. I’m afraid it’ll get into his lungs and then there’ll be pneumonia to worry about, too.” The thought of pneumonia terrified him. He’d seen too many men waste away and die from it in the war.

“How long can he last, Nate?”

Damn, there was the question he knew would come. Nathan sighed and sat down at his desk. “He lost an awful lot of blood, Chris. Nearly bled dry. If he don’t get some water, he might make it through the night, but, he’s gotta wake up real soon.”

Chris sighed and sat down in the chair between the cot and the bed. Vin mumbled something in his sleep and Larabee leaned close to hear him say the words, “It’d be a bit of a trip…but I ain’t averse t’goin’ so far.”

Chris frowned, listening to the tracker talk in his sleep. Vin was leaving? “Where you plannin’ on goin’, Vin?” he asked.

Vin’s mouth pulled and his brow furrowed in his sleep. “Ain’t afraid of workin’ a bit to get there…”

“Where, Vin?” Chris asked again, quietly, wondering what went on out in the desert beside that coach. Tanner didn’t answer. He seemed to drift into a deeper sleep and became quiet again.

Larabee patted his friend gently on the arm and then turned to Ezra, watching as his face twitched slightly. “Ezra,” he called softly. He watched as Standish’s eyelids fluttered, his eyes moving as if he was searching for something in his sleep. This was the first movement that he’d seen from him aside from his ineffectual struggles against the increased pain they’d inflicted on him. “Ezra,” Chris called again, his voice quiet but penetrating.

“He comin’ 'round?” Nathan asked anxiously as he came closer to the bed.

“Seems that way,” Chris replied. “Come on, Ezra. We need you to wake up. ”

A grimace crossed Ezra's face and he turned his head slowly.

“Ezra, you been out long enough,” Nathan chided. “Get up now.”

The grimace increased, then erased itself from Ezra’s face. He said thickly, “rather sleep,” and shifted slightly under the covers.

Both Jackson and Larabee smiled. “Well, I figured on that, Ezra,” Chris commented. “But you’d better wake up for a bit and save Nathan from worryin’ himself sick.”

“Hmmm,” Ezra voiced and became still again, his breathing slowing.

“No, you don’t!” Nathan ordered sharply. “Don’t you go fallin’ back asleep!”

An eyebrow cocked.

“Let’s sit him up, Chris,” Nathan ordered. “He can sleep in a bit, but he’s gonna have to put up with us first.”

Chris nodded and slid an arm under Ezra and levered him into an upright position, careful of Ezra’s sore shoulder and bruised back. He apologized softly when Ezra inhaled abruptly, “Sorry about that, Ezra.”

Ezra’s eyes finally opened narrowly and he gazed back at Chris. “You’re rather close, sir,” he said in a hoarse voice, staring at the face so near his own.

“Can’t be helped,” Chris responded as he leaned the man against him. Ezra’s breathing quickened. “Doin’ okay?” Larabee asked. Standish’s head felt hot as it pressed against his chest.

“Fine,” Ezra responded as he rested. “Vin?” he asked softly, then his eyes lit on the tracker. “Is he…?” he trailed off, not wanting to say the words.

“He’s fine, Ezra.” Nathan responded. “Gonna be up and out of my hair in no time.”

“Good,” Ezra responded. Chris watched a silent struggle play over the cardsharp's face. “My leg?” he asked, not looking toward the appendage.

“You got it sliced pretty bad," Nathan told him.

The lost look only deepened and Ezra stiffened. “Did you…did it require… amputation?” he asked in a flat voice.

The question startled Larabee and he frowned at Nathan, wondering why Ezra even asked it.

Nathan smiled and shook his head. “Well, if you got it cut a few inches deeper you may 'ave done it yourself. I put a couple dozen stitches in it, so it’ll hold together.” Chris felt Ezra relax against him as Nathan continued, “You lost more blood than a man should, but I don’t think the damage is gonna be permanent.” He turned his back on Ezra to fill a glass with water. “You might not even be left with a limp. You just gotta listen to me and behave.”

Ezra uttered too softly to be heard by the healer, “Not likely.”

Chris chuckled.

With his one available hand, Ezra touched his chest “Good Lord, it’s good to out from under there. I thought I’d…” and then his voice drifted off as Nathan came to him with a glass of water. “…thought I wouldn’t escape alive from there.”

“We came as soon as we could,” Chris explained as the healer helped Ezra to drink. “Figured something had gone wrong.”

Nathan pulled back the cup to make sure that the Ezra didn’t get sick on it. 

Ezra blinked at Chris and asked, “Mr. Larabee, how’d you know of our predicament? Did you have a…supernatural premonition?”

Chris replied, “When it comes to you and Vin, it doesn’t take anything supernatural. I just come to expect trouble.”

“Hmmm,” Ezra responded as he drank again. He gazed back to the slumbering tracker, then lifted his gaze to Nathan. “You’re certain that he’ll be alright? He was rather on his own.”

“He’ll be fine,” Nathan reiterated. “And he wasn’t exactly alone, you fool. You were there, too.”

Ezra rolled his eyes. “And completely…incapacitated…of no use whatsoever.”

“I figure you kept him company if nothing else,” Chris returned. “And ya probably reminded him to take care of himself. Vin can get a bit distracted when certain things take up his attention.”

Ezra responded with a soft grunt, unable to say anything else because Nathan had pressed the glass to his lips again.

Chris sighed, as he continued to hold Ezra upright. “Figure I owe you an apology for what I said before you all left.”

Ezra pushed the glass away, getting an annoyed look from Nathan. “Whatever for?” he asked softly.

“What I said about the money and you -- it wasn’t right.”

A smile tugged at Ezra’s lips, but already he was drifting off again. “Undeniably, I do have a fondness for it. The acquirement of money is, in fact, an all-consuming passion with me…all I really care about. I’d trade any one of you for a half-dollar.”

Larabee frowned and his eyes narrowed to his famous glare. “If you think I believe that, Standish, then you’re dumber than a box of hammers.”

Ezra gazed back at him in disbelief. He seemed about to say something, but instead closed his eyes.

“Ezra?” Chris called, and gently shook the man in his arms. “Come on, Ezra.”

Nathan shook his head. “Looks like he’s done. At least he drank something. Next time we might be able to get medicine into him.”

Larabee looked up to find Vin gazing back at him from the cot. “Don’t worry, cowboy," Vin said. “We’ll get him set straight sooner or later.” Vin smiled. “I’ve been workin’ on him for a while now.”

“Been a bit of a struggle, I take it,” Chris replied, as he and Nathan got Ezra settled.

“Yeah, well…” Vin yawned. “Seems there’s a bit of groundwork to get broke down first. We’ll get if fixed if we’re patient. I ain’t afraid of workin’ a bit to get there.”

 

PART 25:

“Okay,” Josiah said, settling his hat on his head. “I’m gonna go down to the restaurant and sup with our brothers.” He gave the two men a steady look. “I’m gonna trust you both to stay put.”

“Now, Mr. Sanchez,” Ezra said as he studied his game of solitaire. “Why would you believe we’d cause any trouble?”

The big preacher smiled and shook his head. “I would be a fool to believe otherwise.” He was glad to see Ezra’s grin. The memories of the past few days would haunt the softhearted preacher for some time. He could still remember Ezra trapped beneath that stage. The memory of seeing only his head and arm sticking out of that wreck made Josiah heartsick. He could still recall his pallor and stillness. Vividly, he could bring to mind the afternoon when he’d helped hold down the con man so that Nathan could get the wound cleaned out again. 

Sanchez continued, “I figure that the two of you are tired of having a nursemaid hovering over you day and night, and you both could probably stand an hour or so without supervision.”

He regarded the two men in their beds. Both looked as if they didn’t have the strength to move, but there was no telling with either of them. Ezra had been improving steadily. He sat against a mass of pillows, to cushion his bruised back. His fever had broken during the night, and he was gaining back some of his natural orneriness. Vin’s leg still troubled him, but he wouldn’t be trapped in this room much longer.

“I mean it,” Josiah stated. “If either of you escape while I’m gone, I’ll never hear the end of it. Nathan will blame me.”

“I wouldn’t want that to happen,” Ezra responded as he laid the red eight on the black nine. “Mr. Jackson’s ire can be formidable.”

“We ain’t goin’, Josiah,” Vin put in. “No need to fret.”

Sanchez nodded and added, “Stay out of trouble!” before he pushed the door open. They heard Josiah descend the stairs outside. Vin sighed. It was nice to finally be out of constant observation. He had felt rather claustrophobic in the confines of the clinic, but having someone constantly peering at him made the sensation even worse. The two sat in silence; the only sound was the quiet flipping of cards as Ezra continued his game.

Finally with his eyes still on the cards, Ezra said quietly, “I’m afraid I may have mentioned something…”

Vin chuckled. “You mention lots of stuff, Ez.”

“I’m afraid,” Ezra said as he ran his fingers along the sides of the partial deck of cards, “that I disclosed an event in my past while we waited at the stagecoach.” He glanced up at Vin, his eyes somber. 

Vin waited a beat before he said, “Ya mentioned something that happened during the War…somethin’ at an army hospital.”

Ezra nodded and continued fiddling with the cards. “Do I have your word that you’ll not tell any of the others about the…incident…in question?”

“I already told ya that, Ez. Won’t say a word. ‘Sides,” Vin said with a cocky grin. “I know you trust me with knowin’ it.” Ezra continued to mess with his cards, unable to keep his mind on the game. “Ezra,” Vin finally said, noting the silence. “I ‘preciate you tellin’ me about what happened. It felt good to know you trusted me like that.”

“It’s not easy for me…” Ezra said softly. He started picking up the played cards.

“I know,” Vin responded. “But, you can talk to me about anythin’ you want, Ez. You understand what I said? My word as a Tanner, I won’t tell no one.” He watched as Ezra straightened the deck. “Sometimes it’s good to talk.”

“No,” Ezra contradicted. “Usually, it isn’t. Speaking of such things is usually only the incipience of trouble.”

“People caused you trouble about that? About what happened in that army hospital?”

Ezra didn’t answer, keeping his attention on the cards.

“They make you feel at fault, Ez?”

“Certain members of my company, when I encountered them, made references…”

“They’re assholes, Ez," Vin declared. “Anyone who figured you did anythin’ wrong.”

“I know,” Ezra replied hollowly. “I do realize that. But it doesn’t stop me from feeling as if I was at least partially responsible for the death of a good man.” He sighed and muttered, “I wish I could’ve been a better man.”

“So, you figure its my fault fer you gettin’ so hurt under that stagecoach?”

Ezra looked up, startled. “Why no, Vin. Of course not. You had nothing to do with my predicament.”

“Yeah, I was the only one who could move, but I left you under that damn thing 'til it almost killed ya. I must be the one who done wrong.”

“You were injured, my friend, and could hardly be expected to accomplish the Herculean task of lifting the conveyance off me.”

“So, you forgive me for that?”

Ezra frowned. “There’s nothing to forgive. I bear you no ill will and am extremely grateful you were with me at the time.”

Vin shook his head. “Yer a better man than any of 'em, Ez. Ya know that?”

Ezra continued to shuffle his cards, lost in thought. Vin continued, “You just gotta pick your friends better.”

Standish smiled sadly. “Sometimes, I believe, my mother is the wisest person on the planet.”

Vin frowned at this sudden statement, remembering a conversation he’d heard between the two – when she callously totaled up the dollar-worth of the gambler. “How’d ya figure that?”

“She has impressed upon me the fact that it’s best to never become too attached to anyone. Friends and acquaintances are only marks to exploit. One should take advantage of situations, and not be entangled in them. One must not tether oneself to a locale; it only leads to familiarity, which is the end of any con. For you see, man is ultimately alone in this world.”

Ezra smiled again, the same self-deprecating smile. “If I never let myself be caught up with the war, if I hadn’t allowed myself to look up to the fine captain, if I hadn’t allowed myself to make friendships among my fellow soldiers, then their condemnations would have meant nothing to me.” He shrugged delicately, mindful of his sore shoulder. “None of this would have been a problem to me. I should never have been in the situation at all. I should’ve taken a sojourn to Europe as my wise mother had suggested at the beginning of the altercation.”

Vin said nothing immediately, poking at his healing leg. “It’s easy to be alone, Ezra. I know it. I lived most of my life on my own, beholden to no one. Problem is, ya can’t live your whole life like that. Sooner or later you’ll get to know folk, and then you’ll start carin’ about what happens to them, watchin’ out for ‘em.”

“There’s no profit in it.”

“Aw, piss on profit!” Vin grumbled. “Profit ain’t done me a lick of good. I got a price on my head, remember?”

Ezra looked up at him and then argued, “Well, building friendships isn’t wise. It only leads to trouble.”

“You got it wrong, Ez. Gettin’ friends is about the wisest thing a man can do.” When Ezra raised an eyebrow, Vin continued, “Good friends! A smart man gets a mess of good folk around him. You done that. That way, they all can watch out for you.”

Ezra groaned. “And in return, I must look out for them. It’s a large price to…”

“Ah crap, Ezra. That’s a bargain.” Vin nodded and said, “It was awful wearyin’ bein’ on my own so much, always watchin’ my back. It’s good to know that there’s more than one set of eyes doin’ the job now. And I can trust 'em. I know I can trust all of you. 'Sides, it’s kinda nice just havin’ someone to jaw at sometimes.” Vin smiled, his blue eyes bright. “I ain’t much of a talker usually,” he explained. “But it’s nice to know that there’s folks about who’ll listen.”

“I’ve always been very enamored with the power of conversation,” Ezra put in, his smile finally becoming sincere.

“Yeah, that ain’t no surprise," Vin chuckled, then added in a knife-sharp tone, “You said that friends are just marks to exploit. That ain’t right. You try t’trick me with one of your schemes and I’ll gut ya!”

Ezra gave the comment a solemn moment to take hold before he responded simply, “Understood.”

Vin nodded sharply, calling that matter to a close, and then said, “Ya know, ya told me somethin’ else when you were stuck under that stage.”

“Good Lord.” Ezra rolled his eyes. “What else?”

“Told me the only thing you were any good at was makin’ money by cheatin’ folks.”

“Obviously, that was a lie.” Ezra raised his free arm. “Look at my surroundings, Mr. Tanner. I hardly have a fortune.”

“Well, just the same,” Vin continued. “One of these days I’ll get ya to admit ya make a pretty good friend, too. That’s better than a wad of money to me.”

Ezra just shook his head skeptically and shuffled his cards.

“You hear what I said, Ez?” Vin called, but there was no time to hear Ezra's response.

A heavy tread on the staircase stopped their conversation. Ezra turned to the door and sighed. “It seems that our Mr. Sanchez has decided that we’ve had enough time alone.” He cocked his head and added, “He’s not alone.”

“JD, you figure?” Vin asked, hearing a lighter pair of footsteps follow the first. A third person started ascending the stairs following the other two. The tracker frowned deeply.

Something about the slowness of the steps was enough to make the two suspicious. They glanced at each other and picked up their weapons from the bedside tables -- a convenience that Nathan had learned to make available. After a quick nod toward Ezra, Vin leveraged himself out of the cot and made his way to the far side of Ezra’s more substantial bed. As he crossed the room, Ezra slid out from under the covers, crouching behind the high mattresses.

Vin came alongside Ezra and the two leaned against the bed, the only real source of cover in the room. Ezra’s face was taut as he tried to keep weight off his wounded leg. Sweat was already beginning to appear on his upper lip. Vin was faring little better, doing his best not to collapse beside Standish. Neither of them were going to last very long in this condition.

The footsteps came closer, too slow and careful to be called casual. “If it is indeed Mr. Sanchez, Mr. Dunne and someone else….” Ezra whispered. “…we’ll have to come up with some explanation of our current positions.”

“Nathan’ll have our hides,” Vin muttered.

There was no time to contemplate excuses as the door violently splintered open. A black-haired man leaped forward and aimed his six-shooter at Vin’s deserted cot, but never had a chance to fire. The moment the gun came into view, he was cut down by a shot to the chest from Vin's mare’s leg and a bullet through the arm by Ezra’s Remington.

 

PART 26: 

“Damn it!” a voice shouted from outside as the big man fell. Another man fired blindly through the doorway, leaping to cover before either Ezra or Vin could target him. The voice, which seemed to be coming from somewhere near the stairs, was urging the shooter, “Come on, Bruce! Let’s get out of here!”

“Shut up, Aggie! We ain’t leavin’ without it!”

Ezra frowned, his eyes never straying from the doorway, watching for the man to appear. “Aggie…” he muttered, leaning heavily against the bed, drawing his breath slowly.

“Yeah?” Vin responded, his clear blue eyes sighting along his rifle, waiting for the right moment.

“…He was at the stagecoach. He was one of the men who chased us down. I recall him shouting to another of his group.”

“Ran off,” Vin added. “I figure I seen him go. How d’ya figure they found us here?”

Ezra rolled his eyes and stated, “We were front page news in the Clarion.”

Vin grimaced, remembering the carefully worded story that Mary Travis posted in her newspaper. Knowing of the bounty over Vin’s head and the possibility of unhappy victims of Ezra’s past life, neither of their names had appeared. But, the story did tell of what happened at the stagecoach, and then mentioned the injuries of the lawmen and their current location. “Damn. Always figured that no news is good news.”

“Well stated,” Ezra returned, keeping his gaze on the door. 

Bruce fired without looking in, shattering a pair of bottles on Nathan’s shelves. Ezra and Vin held their fire, waiting for a decent shot. Vin didn’t hazard a look toward Ezra, but he could hear his harsh breathing, “Hang on, Ez,” he said under his breath.

“As tightly as I can,” Ezra responded.

“Chris and the others are at the restaurant,” Vin said. “Won’t take 'em long to get here.”

“Unless, of course they’re servin’ apple dumplings,” Ezra interjected.

“Look!” Bruce called. “We just want the gold. We know you got it somewhere here in town!”

“You figure we got it here?” Vin asked incredulously.

“Figure you know what they done with it!” Aggie returned. “It’s all we want.”

“It’s all I want as well,” Ezra called back. “Perhaps we can bargain for the treasure?”

“Bargain?”

“You allow me and my compatriot to safely exit, and I’ll bring you to it. We can divide the spoils 50-50?”

“What?” the man called. “You want to split it with us?”

“Why not?” Ezra rested his head against the mattress, still keeping a watch on the doorway. He wished he could put his left hand on the bed frame to steady himself, but his arm was too tightly bound in its sling. He lowered his voice and asked Vin, “What’s taking Chris and the others so long?”

Vin answered quickly, “Gettin’ into position, or takin’ one last bite of dumplin’.”

Ezra sighed and raised his voice again. “I believe we deserve the prize as much as you and your little friend. I can certainly make better use of it than any of you. Besides, how do you aim to carry away the booty?”

“Be a bit heavy,” Vin added.

“Figure we’ll take all we can manage,” Bruce responded.

Aggie, near the stairs, called, “Hurry up, Bruce! There’s fellas comin’ -- tough lookin’ guys! One of them’s got on the roof. Damn it! They’re all over!” His voice grew higher as he spoke.

“Shut up, Aggie!” Bruce barked, the pitch of his voice betraying his own fear.

Vin smiled tightly, realizing that Ezra was doing his best to delay the men, to hold them until the others arrived. He could hear Chris and Buck shouting up at the outlaws, but it didn’t seem to deter Bruce, who was noisily reloading his gun just outside the door.

“How about 60-40?” Standish drawled. “It seems more than fair to me.” With his voice too low for the outlaws to hear, he murmured, “Of course there’s no reason to explain who will get the 60 percent and who will leave with 40.”

“We don’t have to give nothin’ to you!” Bruce shouted and fired off another shot, zinging a hole into the wall near the roof. “We want it all!”

“Avaricious toads,” Ezra grumbled, blinking against the sweat in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Vin agreed, holding himself up by sheer willpower. “I was gonna say the same thing.”

“Where the hell is it?” Bruce barked.

“Not here, sir,” Ezra rejoined. “It’s under lock and key at an undisclosed location at this moment. Perhaps you’d like to take a stroll with me?”

Bruce fired blindly again, ducking away too quickly to be targeted.

“Damn it!” Vin growled at the quickness of the man. “If that idiot would just stay still, I could get us out of here.”

“Mr. Larabee and the others are here. They’ll take care of it.”

Bruce fired again, striking the mattress before he hid beside the doorframe again.

“Screw that!” Vin responded. He took careful aim at the wall near the doorway and fired. The powerful sawed-off Winchester blasted a ragged hole in the clinic’s wall. Bruce gasped and then fell noisily to the deck.

“You up there!” the familiar voice of Chris Larabee boomed. “Throw down your weapons and get your hands over your head!”

“I didn’t mean nothin’!” Aggie squealed. They heard the thunk of a dropped gun. “I didn’t do nothin’! Don’t hurt me!”

Vin gripped Ezra’s arm and together they slid to the floor beside the bed. “I believe,” Ezra said quietly as they settled, “that I’m not quite ready to move just yet.” His face was shinny with sweat, and he’d lost what color he’d been able to gain over the past few days.

“Yeah, me neither,” Vin admitted, stretching his sore leg out in front of him.

“Perhaps Mr. Jackson’s belief that we should remain quietly abed is well-founded.”

“Yup.” Vin groaned as he rested his head against the mattress.

Outside, they could hear the sound of their friends charging up the stairs. Aggie was protesting, and Nathan, Josiah and Chris shoved passed him. Chris shouted, “Buck, get his piece of shit locked up! JD, get off the damn roof before you fall, and help him.” Then, he followed the other two into the little room.

“Vin!” Nathan shouted worriedly as he looked into the apparently empty room. “Ezra! Oh God, not again.”

“We’re down here, Nate,” Vin returned. Ezra was slumping against him, too worn out by the sudden activity to keep his eyes open. Already the con man was snoring so softly it could barely be heard. Vin kept a tight grip on him, not letting him hit the ground. “Why don’t cha come on ’round and see us.” He blinked and nodded, feeling exhaustion pull at him.

Nathan frowned and muttered as noted the damage to the room. Chris shook his head in disbelief. Josiah smiled. Together, the three rounded the bed.

Josiah chuckled softly and said, “I told you two to stay out of trouble.” He shook his head at the two lawmen slumped against each other, asleep.

 

PART 27:

A week had passed since the outlaws made their second unsuccessful attempt to abscond with the gold shipment. The mineral in question had been transferred under an armed escort a few days after that ruckus. Aggie Dawes, still recovering from his earlier gunshot wound, had departed their company, headed for a prison cell in Yuma.

The town of Four Corners was once again quiet. The biggest excitement of the day revolved around a penny-ante poker game that was in session at the main table in the Redbird. The saloon’s pianist was leaning against the spinet, joking with the bartender. The manager walked around the floor, making sure that all was ready for the evening crowd.

Ezra yawned into his hand and looked distractedly at his cards. “Lord, I don’t think I can keep my eyes open to complete this hand.” A pillow had been added to the back of his favorite chair in the saloon, to cushion his sore back. Nathan had berated him into keeping his arm in a sling for one more day, and he had so far followed that advice. Jackson had expressed hope that the damage done to the leg would not cause a permanent limp…if Ezra stayed off it as much as possible. Standish had insisted on leaving the clinic finally, but only if he promised the healer that he’d stay put in the saloon until someone came to help him move -- his healing leg wasn’t up to a stroll. Vin agreed to the same.

“I may have to forfeit the game on account of exhaustion.” Ezra closed his eyes for a moment and leaned back into his pillows.

“Shut up and bet,” Buck replied. “Ya can’t cheat me by pretending to be asleep. I’m wise to you!”

“For once…” Ezra exhaled, and threw a nickel into the pot.

Vin silently threw in a matching amount.

“Damn,” Buck murmured, fingering his remaining stake. “Don’t know if I got enough coins left.”

Ezra smiled his Cheshire grin. “I’d be more than happy to make change for you, sir. I have plenty.” He gestured to the pile of coins in front of him. With a cock of the head, he added, “It’s a pity. You can’t seem to keep much on your side of the table today.”

Wilmington grumbled, “Pity, my ass!”

Ezra shook his head and rearranged his cards. In a low voice, he uttered, “Pity your ass? Yes, someone should.”

“Now, see here!” Wilmington shouted as he leaped to his feet. His chair rocked dangerously behind him. “Only reason I’m not callin’ you out is because you ain’t altogether on your feet yet. Neither of you got any strength in ya.” He tapped his cards menacingly on the table. “I gotta give ya poor invalids a fightin’ chance.”

The tracker watched as Buck huffed and sat down, but not before the ladies’ man took a discrete look over his shoulder to check out his derriere. “What the hell are you talkin’ about, Ezra?” Wilmington muttered. “The ladies loved my ass!” Buck settled himself and mumbled, “The two of you are just asking for trouble. Should take ya down while I got the advantage.”

“I believe we could take you on.” Ezra threw Vin a look and added, “Either of us.”

“Yup,” Vin said, nodding tiredly. “Long as it ain’t no runnin’ race.”

With a scowl, Buck tossed down his cards and slammed his elbow down on the table. “Arm wrestle?” He waggled his fingers at Ezra.

“Lord no.” Ezra muttered. “A contemptuous activity reserved for barroom brawlers and imbeciles without the mental capacity for verbal battle.”

“Yeah, what he said,” Vin said, smiling as he kept his attention on his cards.

Buck shook his head and chuckled as he picked up his cards again, knowing that Ezra or Vin probably would have taken him up on the challenge on another day. “Ya know, you fellas really piss me off sometimes.”

“Yup,” Vin responded. “Got a knack for it.”

“Yes, it’s our forte,” Ezra added.

Buck finally managed to find a nickel to fulfill his bet, and the cards were called. Wilmington grimaced when he saw the three nines in Tanner’s hand. “Damn you, Vin!” With a disgusted snort, he got to his feet and snagged his hat. “The two of you done cleaned me out. I got nothin’ but greenbacks left in my pockets and you ain’t gettin’ ’em.”

“At least not today,” Ezra said softly.

“Hang it,” Buck uttered, putting a protective hand over his pocket. “You keep your grubby hands off my money.”

Ezra looked hurt as he examined his hands. He turned overly wide eyes on Vin and held up his hands for inspection. “Do these look ‘grubby’ to you?”

“If you were after my money,” Vin returned, “I’d have to say ‘yep’.”

Ezra harrumphed. Buck laughed and said, “Well, it’s high time that I got goin’. Either of you want to go somewhere? I could give you a hand.”

“I’m quite comfortable where I am,” Ezra said, nestling into his pillow. “It’s remarkably more entertaining here than in the clinic.”

“Yeah, I seem to be farin’ well enough,” Vin put in. “Figger I’ll be okay for a while yet.”

Buck shook his head. “Now you boys play nice. Nate said to keep you two quiet for a while. Don’t know how you'll manage that around here.” He scratched his chin. “Maybe we should send you both on a trip. Maybe that lake you all were talkin’ about last time we played.” He turned and made his way to the door. “Titicaca,” he chuckled to himself and sauntered toward the exit. “Titty…” he snickered as he walked through the door. He came to an abrupt halt and blanched before quickly stating to someone just beyond the doorway, “No, ma’am. I wasn’t talking to you. I’m sorry. I... ah…” He snatched the hat from his head and made obsequious gestures before darting away.

The tracker and the gambler laughed quietly in the saloon, and then relaxed in the calm. “Would you care for another game of chance, Mr. Tanner?” Ezra asked, after several moments.

“Naw,” Vin countered. “I think I’m pretty tired out.”

“Pity,” Ezra said as he picked up the cards. “I was ready to continue.”

Vin shook his head with a smile, noting the obvious signs of weariness in the cardsharp. Ezra seemed hardly able to hold up his head. For his first day out of bed, he was doing fairly well, but he wouldn’t last much longer.

Ezra continued in a magnanimous tone, “Well, if you insist on drawing this game to an end, I suppose there’s little I can do.” The pile of small change disappeared into the gambler’s pockets and the deck found its home in his vest. With a sigh, Ezra relaxed in his pillowed chair.

Vin rubbed his hand over the elbow of his jacket. “Still needs mendin’,” he commented.

Ezra raised an eyebrow. “I believe you meant to say ‘replacing’.”

“Naw,” Vin returned. “Jacket as good as this deserves fine treatment. Still gotta find a tailor who’s fit to fix it.”

“Try Yosemite. He’s used to stitchin’ up hides.”

Vin snorted. “Guess it’ll have to wait. Can’t even get around town without help, so we won’t be goin’ to Cedar Ridge for a while yet.”

“I would like to avoid that particular route for the time bein’.”

“We had quite a ride this time.”

“Indeed,” Ezra replied. “That riotous trip on the stagecoach will be difficult to forget. What do you say to the idea that we try to avoid future misadventures and not allow ourselves such injury again?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Then it’s agreed. We’ll wait out the rest of the century in peace and quiet.” Ezra nodded.

“‘Spect there’s some places we could go for that,” Vin considered. “‘Spect Buck’s right. That Lake Titicaca might be a good place to go -- nice and quiet. A man could be all alone there.”

“True,” Ezra agreed, closing his eyes. “It would be a serene and placid existence. One could spend one’s time learnin’ to breathe in a shallow atmosphere and relaxin’ by the water’s edge. Nary another human being in sight.”

After a moment, Vin added, “Get kinda dull after a while, don’t cha think?”

Ezra opened astonished eyes at Vin. “Why, Mr. Tanner, you surprise me. I thought you enjoyed life alone in the wilderness. Certainly you’d feel right at home on the lonely shores of that distant lake.”

Tanner wrinkled his brow. “I don’t know, Ez. I’ve gotten kinda use to havin’ folks nearby. Got to the point where I like it now.” He shrugged. “I figure I don’t need to put myself so far away from other folk anymore.”

“Ah, yes,” Ezra said with a yawn. “No man is an island.”

“I like havin’ friends about. It’s nice to know that there’s folks I can count on nearby.” Vin waited a moment before adding, “What do you think of that?”

Ezra opened both his eyes and smiled broadly. “That sounds excellent, Mr. Tanner. You deserve to be surrounded by trusted friends.”

“Kinda like it that you’re one of them. Figure you’re one of the better friends I’ve ever had.” And when Ezra opened his mouth to form a protest, Vin continued, “Don’t you deny what I said, Ezra. I ain’t no liar.”

“Your honesty is well known, Mr. Tanner,” Ezra responded solemnly.

“And you, Ez?” Vin tried. “You got anythin’ to say ‘bout that? Anythin’ that won’t sound like you’re callin’ me a liar?”

Ezra paused before saying, “Well, I suppose I must say that I’m honored to be counted as a friend of Mr. Tanner’s. I will do my best to live up to that responsibility.” Ezra closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. Perhaps he fell asleep. Perhaps he was just playing possum. It was always difficult to tell with Ezra.

Tanner shook his head and chuckled softly before pulling his hat over his eyes and leaning back. At least Ezra had admitted to being a friend. Someday he’d get the cardsharp to admit to the other side of that coin -- that Mr. Standish had friends too -- that they had a responsibility to him.

But, that’d have to do for now.

THE END


End file.
